Loveboat in 서울

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Appa knocks as I sit hard on the lid of his suitcase, trying to coax the stubborn, tasseled zipper around its last corner so I can make my flight this afternoon. I know it's him knocking, because he's the only one who does.

"Come in," I grunt.

He holds a soft black case. His graying hair is combed over. He's fifty-five, and his narrow face is tired and line like a map of the mountains, unlike Wendy;s lawyer dad who could pass for her older brother.

"Need a hand?"

"I got it."

He ducks coming in, as if my doorway isn't high enough. I take my room for granted most days, but now that I'm leaving, my dance posters, lavender satchel, secret ramen noodle stash - the space feels like my only sanctuary.

"This isn't for you to take to Korea. But I wanted you to have it."

The zipper is hopeless. I take the case from him and spill a stethoscope into my hand.

"My med school advisor gave it to me when I graduated. I've been saving it for you. Do you - do you like it?"

The chrome is still shiny. He's never used it: the soft Y-shaped neck, the round chest piece that can hold a heartbeat. I weigh it like a baby in my hands, this symbol of a respected profession my family has only watched from the outside.

It's more my size than his, as if it's been waiting for me.

The floorboards creak under Appa's weight.

A few years ago, Sihyeon and I watched Mulan on Netflix: the girl in ancient China who steals her father's armor to save him, returns home a hero, and tries to earn her father's forgiveness by thrusting her honors at him. Only to be told that the greatest gift was having her for a daughter.

Sihyeon and I bawled. And then we found out Appa had watched it on a flight to Korea years ago.

"Did you cry, too?" Sihyeon had the guts to ask, while I hovered in the background, waiting for his answer.

Appa had scrunched up his face, goofy-like, as he did only for her. "I did."

"Really?" I blurted, startled into engaging. Did miracles still happen? Did he actually get it?

"Which part, Appa?" Oh, Sihyeon, how do you dare?

"When the Huns invaded China," came his honest reply.

Now we're standing in reverse. He wants me to love it, this gift, and I just . . .

He takes my arm, a rare contact. "Korea's not a punishment," he murmurs. "It was bad timing. I might be able to join you the last days if I can line up my business trip." To a hospital he consults for on the sly. It's a few extra dollars and they fly him out twice a year. Maybe that will be one day: moonlighting. Sneaking out of the hospital in my white lab coat to dance on legs that have forgotten how to move.

Eomma bursts in, pressing Appa aside. "Suzy, I found you a neck pillow." She thrust it at me, then unzips my suitcase lid. "Are you ready?" She inspects the contents, then yanks out my periwinkle dance bag and dumps my leotard and pointe shoes onto my bed.

"You won't be needing all that in Korea," she says, and bustles off.

Appa opens his mouth. "Suzy-"

"I can't pack with all these interruptions."

I drop the pillow, set his stethoscope on my banned leotard, and fall back onto the evil zipper. I'm an automaton. Everything I'm doing is like their hands moving through mine.