American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

"...What did you say?" She turned back to look at Aunt Li. "My dad... he’s back?"

"Yes," Aunt Li lowered her voice. "I saw him go upstairs. He looked awful."

Her expression was a wry smile, a look of neighborly concern that was equal parts genuine and gossipy.

The gift box in Jin Heon’s hand suddenly felt heavy.

"Got it," she said, trying her best to sound as normal as possible. "Thank you, Aunt Li."

"Be safe," Aunt Li cautioned before she left.

Without looking back, Jin Heon walked straight toward the entrance of the apartment building.

It was a red-brick apartment building from the 70s. The gaps between the exterior bricks were filled with dried moss and grime, the fire escape had rusted to a dark brown, and it seemed one of the lights in the hallway had been broken for as long as Jin Heon could remember.

There were 48 steps from the first floor to the third. She’d counted them in elementary school, and then again in middle school.

She counted them again now. Sure enough, it was still 48.

The steps hadn’t changed, and neither had Jin Heon.

’No,’ she thought.

’I’m not that little girl anymore. I’m a 22-year-old adult with assets in the tens of millions of USD. I’m about to manage a team of over ten people. I’m a grown woman, stronger than him.’

Jin Heon stood on the landing for about half a minute before finally taking a deep breath and walking to her apartment door.

She fished the keys from her pocket with her right hand, her left holding the health supplements.

As the key slid into the lock, the familiar sound made her flinch subconsciously.

But nothing happened. She opened the door.

The entryway was exactly as she’d left it, piled with a few pairs of old slippers and a dusty folding umbrella. A man’s jacket hung from a hook above the shoe cabinet—not the one she remembered, but it looked similar enough.

Jin Heon gently pulled the door shut without a sound.

She tilted her head to listen. The sound of a TV came from the living room, playing at a moderate volume. It was some midday drama on a Korean-language channel, occasionally punctuated by a heavy snore or two.

Jin Heon let out a sigh of relief. He was asleep, thank goodness.

She slipped off her shoes and hurried to the kitchen, hugging the wall as she went.

The kitchen door was ajar, spilling a warm, yellow light.

"Mom," Jin Heon whispered as she pushed the door open. "I’m back."

Her mother was standing at the stove, her apron dusted with flour. When she heard Jin Heon’s voice, she turned, stunned for a moment before her face broke into a wide, joyous smile.

"Heon? What are you—"

"Shh," Jin Heon put a finger to her lips and jutted her chin toward the living room. "Keep your voice down."

Her mother sighed at the sight of Jin Heon tiptoeing around because of her father, as if he were a burglar, then took the bag from her daughter’s hands and placed it on the counter.

"What did you buy?" she asked, chattering away as she couldn’t help but quickly start unpacking. "Why didn’t you call to say you were coming? What do you want for dinner? Soybean paste stew? Or some of my homemade kimchi?"

"I can’t, I’m not eating at home," Jin Heon said, helping take the gift boxes out of the bag and setting them out. "This is six-year-old Korean ginseng. You can brew it as a tea—one small slice a day is enough. Hmm... You can also make a slice for Dad whenever he gets drunk. You need to take care of your health. And this is wild mountain ginseng; you can add it to chicken soup. The honey red ginseng extract was a gift from my boss."

"This must have been expensive, right?" Her mother frowned as she examined the gift boxes, admiring them. "Things are so expensive in New York, and it’s not easy for you to make money. You shouldn’t be spending it so carelessly."

"It wasn’t expensive," Jin Heon said with a smile. "I got it on sale. It was only a little over 80 USD."

Her mother placed the gift boxes on the top shelf of a cabinet, then turned and poured her a cup of barley tea.

"Here, have some tea to warm up on a cold day like this," she said. As she handed the cup to Jin Heon, she took hold of her daughter’s red fingertips, her voice full of concern. "Your hands are like ice! You should have worn gloves if you were carrying all this."

"It’s okay," Jin Heon said with a smile. "I’m not cold."

"Why don’t you go rest in your room for a bit? I’ll pack up some of my homemade kimchi for you," her mother said, glancing toward the living room. "Your father drank quite a bit this afternoon. He’s fast asleep now and probably won’t be waking up anytime soon."

"Was he in a bad mood from losing money again?"

Her mother silently nodded.

Cup in hand, Jin Heon walked to her room, pushed the door open, and went inside.

Her single bed was pushed against the wall, the sheets looked freshly changed; her mother clearly cleaned the room often. The desk was bare. The lampshade had a large, scorched spot on it. Jin Heon couldn’t quite remember how it happened, but she had a vague memory of her father getting drunk and using the lamp as an ashtray. If the smell of smoke hadn’t woken her in the middle of the night, the whole house might have burned down.

The walls were bare—no posters, photos, or award certificates.

It wasn’t that Jin Heon’s grades were poor. On the contrary, she had always been a top student. How else would she have gotten a full scholarship to New York University?

It was just that whenever she won an award, her father’s praise always managed to make it about himself.

"Heon, you got first place again. When you make the big bucks, don’t forget to give your dad a cut. It cost a lot of money and hard work to raise you."

"Heon, you’re so pretty. When you find a boyfriend, don’t just look for someone handsome. Find someone rich, so our whole family can live a good life thanks to you."