Chapter 42

I'll do anything for you

I couldn't speak.

Four years, and the sound of her voice still cut through me like a knife, rendering my body useless. My joints had locked, my blood frozen in my veins. My heartbeat felt like drum beats. Four years and it still had this effect on me, surely as any poison. My knees ached to be pressed to the ground, my mouth already shaping into words of apology, shame, begging, even though I hadn't done anything wrong.

Somehow, on her lips even my name could sound like a rebuke.

I hated that just her voice could do this to me. I hated that the control she had over me hadn't wavered in the years since we'd spoken.

But what could I expect? After all, she was my mother.

"Yeji?" My mother repeated, her voice holding an air of impatience—like this was an ordinary call and she had something important to get back to. Like I hadn't just contacted her out of the blue for the first time in four years.

I forced my jaw to unlock, forced words to come out. "Mother. I ... I need your help."

I could hear her disapproval over the phone. "My day is going well, too, daughter, thank you for asking. Have you eaten?"

Like you care. I bit back the words. I was above this; I wouldn't let her words get a rise out of me, no matter how deep they cut.

Her voice again, this time floating to me from memories.

The time she'd grounded me and stopped cooking for me when I'd gotten a poor grade on a test.

The time she hadn't spoken to me for a week after I'd thrown a fit at a public park.

The time I'd told her I liked girls and she'd looked me dead in the eye and told me I was deluding myself and to never say those words again.

The time she'd hugged me when I'd gotten lost at the supermarket and demanded I never scare her like that again.

The time she'd been there at my piano recital when she said she wouldn't be able to make it, clapping in the audience.

The time she kissed my forehead after she'd come home late from work, in the darkness when she thought I was asleep. How I'd stayed up every night after that for hours, my eyes fixed on the door, holding my breath until I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

I pushed them away. Put the thought of Stray Kids in my head like a beacon, clearing away the fog of old memories. Set the image of them when they heard the news—desolate and broken—like a goal. A focus point, to get me through this conversation.

"JYP is planning to disband Stray Kids," I said. "Changbin—your son—will lose his career, and his friends, his reputation. I've been living with them for the past month, and they're a family. It would kill him if they were separated."

Silence over the phone. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"You have friends in JYP. You work there. Talk to JYP's team, JYP himself if you have to. Convince them not to make Stray Kids disband. I know you can do it." I know you can do it because power and standing is the only thing you've prided yourself in for decades. Power and standing are the two things you taught me to reach for above all else and take by whatever means. I know you have it—I just have to convince you it's worth it to use it up.

My mother hummed thoughtfully. "A very tedious task. I would be stepping out of my job's bounds, and you know I would hate to be seen as a disputer in the company. It might take months—"

"No." I could not bring myself to care that I'd interrupted her. I was already a terrible daughter, had been for a long time, and I could not afford to waste energy on it now. "Do it today."

"It would be very nearly impossible, Yeji. I'd be at risk of being fired. Be reasonable."

My voice was dry and toneless. I knew where this was going. "I'll give you anything you want in return."

"Anything?"

"Yes," I said, that one word sealing my soul, sending fissures of ice skating across my heart.

My mother didn't miss a beat.

"You will end your relationship with that woman."

Crack.

"You will apply for a job as an engineer—the occupation that you were supposed to major in—under your uncle's corporation. You will give up your career in writing, if you can even call it that."

Crack.

"And you will meet some of the nice young boys your father wanted to introduce you to over video. I'd rather you visit Korea instead, but you told me you'd never want to come back to our house, so I'll settle for you calling me every month, so we can catch up together."

Crack. With a final lurch, my heart shattered completely, sending shards of ice ripping through my ribs. Everything I'd done---the life I'd built for myself, all the scraping and scheming and dreaming...

I thought of Claire the last time I'd seen her, at the airport, her face close enough to mine to flood me with the sweet, thick reassurance that everything was going to be okay, fleeting and fragile in its hollow warmth.

Don't be gone long, she'd said softly, the only hint of sadness she had let herself allow, and I loved her all the more for that then—that she wasn't one for mushy goodbyes, that she refused to show that she was hurting so I would feel less bad about leaving.

I won't, I had promised.

But now...

Could I do it? Could I break that promise to her? Could I destroy us—destroy myself?

I thought of Changbin, of Stray Kids—people I had met less than a month ago, and yet already held a special place in my heart. I thought of the eight of them, a room over, huddled together in a pile, clinging to one of the last moments they would have together. I thought of my brother, calling me in the middle of the night when his hands were shaking so badly he kept dropping the phone, telling me of the family he was sure he would lose, the family he was losing now.

I thought of every moment I'd spent with them, every laugh and fight and thoughtless conversation that now held more meaning than worlds.

Felix's expression when he'd finally realized that I understood who he was and loved him the same; Hyunjin's soft features as he'd looked up at that photograph of the members, telling me the reason why he'd stayed. Changbin's arms around me, whispering that everything would be okay; Chan's face in the dim light of his room, showing me the inside of his head before anyone else. Minho's eyes as he'd told me the story of the worst moment of his life, then offered to teach me to dance; Seungmin's heartbeat, resounding through me from where his chest was pressed against my shoulder, our hearts and stories the same. Jeongin's voice when he'd grabbed my hands, begging me to see him as more than a kid, more than his scars; Jisung's tear-stained cheeks, tired of smiling so much, as he'd told me about the lights behind his eyelids, how he was almost there.

Stray Kids was everything. Eight, and somehow more. Stray Kids touched millions upon millions of people, more than I could ever hope for.

And before I knew it, one of those people had ended up me.

I... I am one person. However much my impact will be on the world, it will always be small. I know that; I know that my life is never going to be one of fame, but rather of simpler things: cramped apartments, cheap pens you had to shake to get working, lazy sunsets, counting dollars on the kitchen table. I have accepted that. Begun to crave it, even. My child's dreams of being gathered up by the stars had long since been replaced by smaller, quieter, more realistic ones.

But ... this. I could do this. And maybe sacrificing that soft, simple life wouldn't be so bad, to do so for them.

It shouldn't have been a hard decision at all, really. Giving up my life for eight others. But there was still a sick feeling in my gut as I cleared my throat.

"Okay."

A beat of sharp silence was the only evidence of my mother's shock. "Okay?"

"Change JYP's decision, and I'll do it. I'll do everything you said. I'll call you every month. I'll apply for the job you wanted me to take. I'll end it with Claire. Just ... save them." There was a bitter taste coating my teeth, my lips, my tongue.

There was a cautious exhale of breath over the phone, and then my mother's voice came again—gentler, this time. "I'm not a bad mother, Yeji," she said, her voice soft. "I've seen what those boys do for Changbin too. He's brighter now. He's found a family. And as much as I wish he'd remember his old one from time to time, I wouldn't let that family be taken away from him. That was the reason why I called you last night, you know. If you had picked up, I would have warned you of JYP's plans." She paused. "But I couldn't reach you, so here we are. This is for my son as much as it is for you.

"And it is for you—my eldest child, my beautiful daughter—even if you don't see that yet. So stay with that girl, if that's what you really want. I guarantee that she won't make you happy. But if you're so hell-bent on casting aside the path your father and I painstakingly carved out for you, so be it. I won't stop you."

"Thank you," I said stiffly, because it was all I could say then. My jaw was clenched so hard my teeth were starting to ache.

"Goodbye, Yeji."

"Goodbye, mother."

There was a click as she ended the call, and I felt a fraction of the weight leave my shoulders. I'd survived it. I trusted my mother very little, but I knew she'd be true to her word on this. 

I ignored the other thoughts threatening to invade my mind, the ones painted delicately with Claire's green eyes, reminding me of what it had cost. I ignored the thoughts about what might have happened if I had picked up her call last night—everything that might have been avoided. 

I ignored it all, and went to find the members.