"How do you raise a house full of psychopaths, Dr. Choi?" she asked, looking back through the glass at the small boy.
"Very carefully, Dr. Min. Very carefully."
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"Are you at the office? Why's it so quiet?"
Soonyoung huffed out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kwon Soonyoung didn't have an office. He didn't even have a cubicle. Because he didn't have a job. Not a real one, anyway. Not that his mother knew that. "No, Ma. I'm working from home today."
And every day.
"Do they have you working on any exciting stories? I told all the ladies in my bridge club about my reporter son. They're very excited to read your first story."
So was Soonyoung. He just had to come up with one. "Ma, please stop telling people about my job. Being an investigative journalist requires a lot of research. It'll be a while before my first major story hits the papers."
His mother sniffed. Then there was the sound of her taking a big gulp of something. Gin, no doubt. It was noon, after all. "I'm allowed to brag about my son. We weren't sure you'd ever make something of yourself. Poor grades. Skipping school. Your brother had sports and debate team and a 5.3 GPA, but you... We thought we'd end up supporting you forever."
Soonyoung knew that. Anybody who knew his mother knew that, too. This wasn't a new conversation.
"Thanks, Ma," Soonyoung said with an eye roll.
She made a disgusted noise. "A writer. Ugh. Might as well be a fitness instructor. At least they have a shot at working with celebrities."
Soonyoung did work with celebrities. Just not in a way his mother would want to brag about.
"Yeah, Ma. I know," he said, seeing the bend in the conversation coming but unable to hit the brakes before it derailed.
"Don't 'I know' me," his mother said. "When we lost your brother, we thought we'd lost any chance..."
No matter how much Soonyoung tried to steel himself for this point in their conversations, it hurt no less. His brother, Tae-Ho, had been the heir, and Soonyoung was most definitely the spare. The one they'd tucked into the closet and ignored on the assumption that their original was just too fucking perfect to die. Guess Tae-Ho showed them. All of them.
Soonyoung stared down at the pic of a movie star sneaking out of a famous singer's apartment, glancing up at the clock. "Yeah, I know, Ma. I'm just saying, I'm up to my eyeballs in research and I'm on company time. I'll call you and dad this weekend, okay?"
"Okay, doll. But don't call on Friday. We're having dinner at the Silvers. And on Sunday, we're having dinner at the Country Club. You know what? I'll call you. Okay?"
Soonyoung sighed internally. "Yeah, sure, Ma. Love you."
His mother blew kisses into the phone. "Talk soon."
Soonyoung didn't know why he said 'love you' every time they ended a call. His mother had never once said it back. Not when he was five, not when he was eleven, not when he was nineteen, standing beside his brother's casket. And not now.
