Beneath the Surface(25)

“You have a fondness for hyperbole.” Kristin kissed Sheryl on the cheek.

“Or maybe just a more expressive way of explaining my feelings.”

“As well as a desire to always have the last word.” Kristin gazed into Sheryl’s eyes.

Sheryl quirked up her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“What?” Kristin asked.

“Nothing, just proving a point,” Sheryl said before kissing Kristin fully on the mouth, in the middle of the sidewalk.





Chapter Ten





“She doesn’t drink?” Kristin’s mother repeated.

“No.”

“Oh.” She twirled the bottle of red wine around in her hands. “So I should put this away?”

“No, it’s fine. We can drink. Sheryl just isn’t much of a drinker.” It suddenly struck Kristin that Sheryl was about to see her very origin. That she would look at her mother and father and could try to piece the puzzle of Kristin together. Kristin would never be able to do that with Sheryl. She would never actually see where she came from.

“Of course we can’t. We can’t have a guest in our house and sit around drinking alcohol while she doesn’t drink.” It also struck Kristin that her mother might be very nervous about this. She hadn’t asked much about Sheryl. She had just inquired about her dietary habits and was only then, fifteen minutes before Sheryl was about to arrive—and Kristin hoped feverishly that she would be on time, which, she had already learned, wasn’t always the case with Sheryl—asking about which wine to serve, Shiraz or Merlot?

“Mom, I’m telling you it’s fine. If anything, you look like you could do with a drink.”

“Is she a recovering alcoholic? Because then it would truly be insensitive.”

“No, she’s not. You should be happy. In his practice, Dad is always advising people to drink less. Sheryl will drink a small glass to be polite, if she feels like it, but that’s it. She just doesn’t like alcohol.” Kristin sympathized with Sheryl more. So many social situations, out of sheer habit, revolved around drinking. The flack she must get for refusing. And how strange that it was so uncommon for people to do so.

“Okay, if you say so. And yes, I think I might have a glass. Would you like one?”

“Sure.”

Kristin waited by her mother’s side while she poured the wine. Her father was out on the deck, lighting the barbecue. For some reason, they believed they had to serve Sheryl Australia’s national dish, despite nearly always having Korean food when they ate alone.

“Cheers.” Kristin sought her mother’s gaze when she clinked the belly of her wineglass against hers, but it was kept from her. Which made her realize that it was a good thing this was happening so fast, lest her parents intentionally forgot their daughter was a lesbian again. They had to see it with their own eyes to actually believe it was true. If not, a residue of hope would always remain. Hope for a big Korean wedding. For grandchildren. For their child not to be discriminated against, Kristin guessed. At least, that’s what Sheryl had told her. “Nine times out of ten, it’s not disapproval but fear that keeps parents from freely accepting their children’s sexual preference.”

They drank in silence, her mother nervously clattering about, adjusting the position of the cutlery on the dining table. It was a beautiful summer night and they could have easily eaten outside, but for some unvoiced reason, her mother had deemed that inappropriate and set the table in the dining room.

Kristin knocked her glass of wine back more eagerly than she was used to. She had confidence in Sheryl being gracious and charming, but not so much in her parents, to whom this was all new. It was new to her as well.



To Sheryl’s surprise, it was Kristin’s father who was the real stunner. Dr. Park was a tall man with impossibly smooth skin and the same sharp cheekbones as his daughter. He was also the warmest in his welcome, while the other Dr. Park, Kristin’s mother, took on a more serving role. From what Kristin had told her, however, Sheryl knew that was not the usual way in the Park household. Kristin hadn’t spilled that much about her parents—probably because of what Sheryl had told her about her own—but she had said that because her parents were both equally busy, they tried to divide all household chores evenly.

Kristin’s father ushered her in, handed the bouquet of flowers Sheryl had brought to his wife, and escorted Sheryl straight onto the deck to admire his barbecue.

“Don’t you think she’s a beauty?” he asked.

“Don’t mind him and his barbie,” Kristin said. “It’s his midlife crisis present to himself.”