Sublimation(82)

She gives up. She gets in the shower. Steam clouds her vision.

As she scrubs, Soyoung thinks about the house again. What her mother had said about the house. How she and her mom had such a hard time talking about anything. It would have been easier if her mom gave her clear-cut instructions. If her mom—either of her moms—had opinions. If her mom in Korea had sat Soyoung down and told her that she wanted the house. If her mom here had said sell the house!

And she realizes she’s thinking about Rose’s mom as her mom. She doesn’t know if it’s just that it’s a slip of the mind, or if something’s changed by going through the gate.





YUJIN


You open the door to your apartment, juggling two heavy bags from Emart. You could have used more bags and more trips to carry the groceries but that would have felt like losing. You’re met with your mom and Soyoung’s mom drinking tea.

“Ah, Yujin-ah,” your mom says. “Say hi to Soyoung’s mom.”

“Hello,” you say politely. You’ve never really gotten used to talking with Soyoung’s mom, as an adult. When you see her—or any of your friends’ moms, really—you feel about ten years old.

“Wow, Yujin-ah, how have you been? How’s your job? How’s your instance?”

“It’s good,” you say. “He’s good.”

Soyoung’s mom always asks about your instance. You always say that he’s good. Soyoung’s mom is the only person, other than your parents, who really asks about YJ, and you never know what to tell her. You don’t know what your mom tells Soyoung’s mom about him.

“Have you heard from Rose? I heard you kids met, when she was here.”

You try not to freeze—try to keep your hand moving as you put the green onion into the fridge. You don’t know what Soyoung’s mom knows about what Soyoung is doing. You know your mom doesn’t know anything—unless Soyoung’s mom told her. But why would Soyoung’s mom ask about Rose, unless she knew?

“I talked a little with her,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. “Not a lot.”

None of this is a lie.

“Good, that’s good,” Soyoung’s mom says.

“I don’t know how you do it, not checking in on her,” your mom says.

“She’s got her mom,” Soyoung’s mom says. “It’s not my place.”

“But she’s your daughter,” your mom says, and it sounds like an old argument, there’s no heat behind your mother’s tone.

“Well, we have to keep it separate somehow. She doesn’t need two mothers,” Soyoung’s mom says, and sometimes you really do see how Soyoung and Soyoung’s mom are related.

“Do you talk about us a lot?”

They turn to you from where they’re sitting at the dining table with their coffee and cookies. They look surprised, like they forgot you were here. You keep putting the groceries away.

“Sure, you’re our kids,” your mom says. And you just kind of nod to that, because you’ve never felt comfortable talking about this with your mom.



* * *



There’s no one way to globally, singularly characterize the relationships between families and their instances. There were cultures in which the instance was shunned. There were cultures in which the instance was an honored guest, but meant never to reintegrate. There were cultures where upon sight, the instances were forced to reintegrate. There were cultures who sold their instance into bondage—there were cultures who spread rumors about the slavery of the instanced self in order to accuse other cultures of barbarism. There were cultures that killed instances upon their creation. In the global, homogenized west, the instance is an awkward, vestigial thing. Impossible to ignore in the age of global telecommunications and cheap long-distance flights. Some scholars have called the instance a problem of modernity, arguing that in the past, the difficulty of transit created natural divides.

But at the familial level, well—it depends on the family. In most of them, an instance of your son still stays your son.



* * *



You go back outside after putting the groceries away. You look at the time. You want to tell Soyoung about what just happened, but it’s not a reasonable hour. You text YJ instead: Mom’s talking with Soyoung’s mom. Kind of funny SY’s mom asked if I had talked with R recently.

YJ types back: Why?

You call him. He picks up.

“Why’re you awake?”

“Work,” YJ says.

“It’s three in the morning.”

“I’m almost done,” he says. You can hear him typing.

“What are you working on?” you ask. You wonder if all these late nights are partially your fault—the data on the USB drive. He’s seemed distant, since then. You haven’t mentioned it. Megan’s sharply bounded concern keeps you from wanting to talk about it over the phone.

“Do you think instancing is a good thing?” YJ says.

“Instancing? Like, the concept?”

“Like the fact that it exists at all,” he says.

“It’s just a fact,” you say. “Like, is gravity good or bad? Is death good or bad?”

“Well, is death good or bad?”