Lia

My younger self will slap me for saying this, but I cannot wait for school to start.

Summer was… crazy. Crazy may not even be the right word to describe it. Overwhelming? A whirlwind of emotions? An utter shitstorm?

There is nothing I need more now than the crippling workload and constant deadlines of college to occupy my mind and stop it from spiraling into the pit of shame and regret.

And the first step to achieve that is to survive this dreadful car ride.

I lean against the headrest and stare out into the sea of vehicles. The 405 highway is as packed as ever, especially in the late afternoon.

“Romeo eh,” my mother pipes up, “if you have trouble with your AP biology class, you want Dr. Kim as a tutor? I visit him every month for my herbs. We are good friends.”

I glance at my brother. His eyes are glued to his phone as he responds with a curt grunt.

“I took an upper-level biology class last year,” I chime in. “I can help too.”

The car falls silent. For the next few minutes, there is no sound except for the occasional clicking of the turn signal whenever my father changes lanes. And when my mother speaks again, it is about Dr. Kim and how helpful he can be to Romeo.

I swallow back a comment about how this ‘Dr. Kim’ is not even a licensed doctor and sink further into the car seat. There is no point. My mother is not going to listen to me. She never does.

For the entire car ride from Orange County to Los Angeles, my mother drones on and on about Romeo’s high school classes, Romeo’s extracurriculars, Romeo’s college applications. Romeo, Romeo, Romeo. Not once does she talk about me.

It’s almost like we are not driving to drop me off for my second year in college.

Despite her incessant interrogation, the only responses my mother could elicit from Romeo are these grunts. He is leaning against the other end of the car, the two of us as far apart as we physically can be inside a small Toyota Corolla.

For as long as I can remember, our family has been like this. My father: quietly performing his duty, whatever my mother instructs him to do. My mother: showering Romeo with all her care and attention. My brother: receiving said care and attention with a sullen face and the least amount of gratitude one can have.

And me, the older daughter who is completely ignored—so much so that when I came out to my parents over the summer, all I was met with were blank stares.

Not judgmental, not disgust, not confusion. Not any reaction I had been preparing myself for.

Blank.

I even Google-translated ‘lesbian’ so I could tell my parents in both English and Korean, in case they did not understand what I mean. They definitely understood me. They just chose to ignore me, as usual.

But as much I disliked the way my parents reacted, it was still much better than Eunice’s reaction.

Eunice…

The familiar ache returns to my chest. Before I could break down into tears again, I close my eyes and take in a shaky breath. And let it out.

My first year at UCLA was perfect. Too perfect. I met my roommate, RJ, and her girlfriend, Chloe. I hung out with them and their high school friends, Jon and Adrian, who are also queer. It was refreshing to be with people who are comfortable with their identities, to see queer relationships working out, to feel accepted as who I am—that I stupidly forgot what it was like back home.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Worst of all, after all my personal issues, I had to witness Chloe’s drama with her biological father who abandoned her. It was possibly the biggest family drama to go down in a cafe. And I still remember how that young woman—that man’s other daughter, Chloe’s half-sister—glared at me as though I was the one who caused her parents to break up in that cafe. As though I was the one who caused her father to cheat twenty years ago.

I shudder. Summer was an utter shitstorm indeed.

Well, lessons learned: feelings are dumb and people are stupid. Soon, the new semester will start, and I can put everything behind me—my family, my hometown, my past—and focus on the things that actually matter. School. Classes. Research. Building my resume.

When I open my eyes again, I notice that my father has turned into the familiar De Neve Drive. I sit up. “Wait, wait, where are we going?”

“What?” My mother frowns. “We going to your dorm.”

“I’m not living in the dorms this year, Umma.”

“What? What do you mean you not living in the dorm?”

I bite my lips to suppress a groan. Of course she does not remember anything I tell her. “I’m moving out to an apartment. It’s cheaper and I get a room to myself.”

My mother’s scowl intensifies. “Apartment? You living with who?”

“Some random girl I found, also from UCLA. I wanted to live with my previous roommate, but she is moving in with her girlf—”

“Why you never tell us?”

“I did, I—“

“Ei!” she exclaims in exasperation. “Gimme the address!”

I manage to enter the address into Google maps before my mother snatches my phone from my hands. Ignoring my protests—and my existence again—she fires off directions in Korean to my father. Both of them grumble and curse at the traffic as they make a U-turn.

I slump back into my seat. As frustrating as this is, at least this car ride is almost over.

The tall buildings of the UCLA dorms make way for the shorter apartment buildings in Westwood. Students fill the sidewalks next to the winding and narrow roads. The building I will be living in sits in between two luxury apartments and looks old and shabby in comparison.

My father is the only one who gets out of the car to help me with my bags. We climb up three levels to my new apartment, according to Yuna’s instructions. Yuna is the previous tenant as well as RJ’s ex-girlfriend, and we’ve only interacted through texts. She seems really sweet, and I hope her apartment mate—now my apartment mate—will be as well.

Just as Yuna instructed last night, I find the key to the apartment below the doormat. I open the door and we enter a spacious room. The apartment is as furnished as I remember from the photos. A counter table separates the living room from a well-equipped kitchen area. There is a wooden dining table that is just big enough for four people, as well as a sizable couch next to it. On the wall is a television—an absolute luxury for college students.

“This is very nice.” My father nods as he looks around.

“So much better than the dorms, right?” I drop my bags on the floor and continue admiring the apartment. Giant windows span the entire wall of the living room, letting in a wonderful amount of light from the afternoon sun. At the other end of the room are two closed doors side-by-side, presumably leading to the two bedrooms. I wonder which room is mine.

“Alright.” My father puts down my stuff and pats his pants. “Good luck in school, Lia.”

My shoulders slump. It feels so great to hear that from him. “Thank you, Appa.”

He gives me a small hug before leaving. Now alone, excitement surges through me. I return to admiring the apartment, walking around, and examining the kitchen area. My eyes dart around curiously before they land on the bedroom doors. Maybe I should text Yuna to ask her which room I will be living in. Or maybe I could knock on the doors and see which door opens. I’ll get to meet my new apartment mate this way too. I hope she is nice. Yuna did not say much about her, other than that she is a night owl.

The door nearer the kitchen opens, and I stare right into a pair of cat-like eyes with smeared eyeliner.

Blinking, I take in the rest of this woman. Long brown hair with blonde streaks, messy and disheveled as though she has just woken up. Her black tank top reveals the entirety of her colorful flower tattoos trailing down her arm. The tank top runs to her upper thighs… where there’s nothing. Yep, she is only wearing a loose tank top and—hopefully—underwear.

My cheeks burn, but it is not because of what she is wearing—or not wearing.

I know her. She was the person glaring at me in that cafe. Chloe’s half-sister. As Chloe cried into RJ’s arms next to me, as the old married couple screamed at each other, this woman glared at me as though I was the one who caused everything to go sideways.

And now, she is glaring at me again.

“It’s you,” she growls. “What the fuck are you doing here?”