Ryujin's POV
The nights are finally getting warmer. It's your favorite time of year -- the muggy transition from spring to summer.
Yeji thinks you're crazy.
She loves the start of spring, when brave daffodils push up through the last remnants of snow. But for you, the end of spring -- when the days start getting noticeably longer and May gives way to June -- wins out. Maybe it's a trust thing. At this time of year, it's finally safe to go out all day without bringing a jacket or a flannel just in case the temperature dips. Besides, warm nights mean dinners on the back patio.
Yeji fell in love with this little blue house the moment the realtor opened the door, but you weren't sold right away. It was hard to see past the scuffed floors and laminate countertops, and you were about to write it off when you looked out the kitchen windows to the back yard. Back then, calling it a patio would've been generous. You could barely see the paving stones through the bunches of weeds growing between them, and the trellis overhead looked on the dangerous side of rickety, but you immediately got a sense of its potential.
It took weeks of blood, sweat, and tears to make the patio halfway decent, but you loved every moment of it. Even before you'd saved enough to buy outdoor furniture, you and Yeji took to spending the summer nights sitting cross-legged on the sun-warmed bricks and drinking cheap wine from dixie cups.
You couldn't imagine being happier.
Tonight, as you help your wife and daughter carry dessert outside, you know that there's no ceiling on happiness.
Yuna places the bowl of whipped cream on the table with a theatrical sigh (a new habit she definitely learned from her Mama).
"We should get one of those mixers that they have in baking class." "That would be easier," Yeji says, laughing. "But my mom always said whisking by hand makes everything taste better. Not to mention that all that hard work will make your arms extra strong." Yuna flexes her right arm and giggles when Yeji lets out a low whistle. "And that's how they made whipped cream before electricity," you say, making your history-buff kid's eyes light up. "So, it's the most authentic method, really." Yeji grins at you and winks.
You both know the real reason you can't entertain the thought of buying a standing mixer is that a decent one would cost more than the baking class itself. And you're still paying off the flights to London, which you split among three credit cards. But Yuna doesn't need to know that.
"I saw an old ice cream churner on the History Channel yesterday," Yuna says. "Maybe we should make authentic rocky road next week." You and Yeji gape at her as she scoops a pile of strawberries onto her plate, topping it off with a healthy dollop of whipped cream. You're not totally sure if she's serious until a giddy smirk creeps across her face. Yeji tosses a strawberry slice at her and Yuna shrieks.
Maybe you'll think otherwise during her teenage years, but right now you can't imagine Yuna being sarcastic with you will ever get old. You know from experience how much trust it takes for a foster kid to let their guard down this much. "I miss baking class. And not just because of the mixers." Yuna smiles at both of you, biting her strawberry-stained bottom lip. "I think that was my best Christmas gift."
She says that about every Christmas gift you gave her, from the family baking class to the waffle-themed tee, but it never fails to make your heart seize up.
Last fall, when you and Yeji were buying her presents, you assumed asking Yuna if you could adopt her would overshadow all the rest, but she doesn't seem to group the "adoption proposal" (a term of Haewon's that's stuck) in the same category as the other gifts.
You reach to dip a particularly juicy-looking strawberry in the whipped cream and, even though it's a small movement, your shoulder stings. You try not to wince as you pop the berry into your mouth. Normally you prefer your fruit plain, but this combination really is delicious. "They're offering a level two course this summer," you say when you're done savoring the mouthful. "Would you want to do that?" Yuna starts nodding vigorously, but then she pauses -- catching herself -- and shrugs. "Maybe."
You and Yeji exchange a knowing look. Lately Yuna's become increasingly non-committal with anything that might take place after her adoption. It's like she thinks any snag in the process will result in her being placed with new foster parents, and nothing you, Yeji, the attorney, or her therapist say seems to reassure her.
In reality, the adoption is progressing smoothly. You feel confident that it'll go off without a hitch, now that the worst of it is over.
The worst of it, of course, being the court hearing to formally terminate parental rights. A knot had formed in your stomach in the days leading up to the hearing, and by the time you and Yeji walked into the courthouse it had worked its way up into your throat. You gripped Yeji's hand and tried to swallow.
"He probably won't be here," she whispered. You nodded silently, not wanting to tarnish her optimism. But you knew this man's brand of cruelty, and people like Yuna's father never missed an opportunity to give one last twist of the knife. Oddly enough, you felt better once you were seated inside.
You've seen your fair share of government buildings but, as luck would have it, this particular courthouse was where Rose adopted you. It was a quiet, almost humdrum affair -- since Rose was always stoic, and you used to keep your emotions to yourself -- but it was one of the happiest days of your life.
Yeji, on the other hand, became jittery. She kept bouncing her knee even after you placed your hand on her thigh, and when Yuna's father was led in through a side door her breath caught in her throat. You tried to keep your face neutral as you watched him shuffle into the room.
The lump in your throat turned red-hot and jagged, and you didn't notice how tightly you were squeezing Yeji's leg until she touched your wrist. "Sorry," you whispered, letting her go. You pressed a kiss to her shoulder and took a deep breath before turning your attention back to him. You tried to focus on the details. He was in a gray jumpsuit, hands and ankles cuffed. You searched his face for a trace of Yuna -- seeking something familiar in his cheekbones or the line of his nose -- but you saw no resemblance at all.
That was the only good thing you could say about his face. It would've been one thing if he showed signs of anger or even regret, but he just stared straight ahead with a look in his eyes too neutral to be described as apathy. In the end, he didn't even put up a fight. Legally, that was a good thing. The rational part of your brain understood that. But the rational part of you felt far away when you listened to his counsel tell the judge he had no arguments to enter. You wanted to slap the blank look off his face, scream at him until he understood how precious his child was despite coming from someone so evil, who tried as he might to break her.
You might've done it, too, if Yeji hadn't slipped her arm around your waist. "Hey." She squeezed your hip and you realized you were on the edge of your seat. "It's okay. Come here." You slid back, practically collapsing against her. "He has no idea what he's giving up," you gritted out. Yeji leaned in until you could feel her lips against your ear. "Because he's a fucking asshole."
The whole courthouse looked at you when you burst out laughing. You quickly turned your laugh into a cough, wincing and placing a hand on your chest in an attempt to sell it. Yeji rubbed your back, brows knit with concern, and if you weren't already married you would've proposed to her right then and there.
By the time the judge's gavel dropped you were feeling pretty good about things. Emotional rollercoaster aside, you'd got what you wanted. Once Yuna's father shuffled out of the room, looking like a pathetic old man, you could finally appreciate the support system represented on your side of the court. Ms. Jennings, the adoption attorney, had handled the proceedings like a pro, and Gerald, Yuna's grumpy social worker, had even shaved his perma-stubble. You were almost giddy as you and Yeji thanked them, and by the time you reached the top of the courthouse steps you felt 10-times lighter.
About halfway down Yeji came to a stop and you automatically paused beside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few long, deep breaths. Without thinking your cupped the back of her elbow -- a gentle touch to let her know you were there. "That sucked," she said once she opened her eyes. A thin tear ran down her cheek.
"You okay?" You let out a shaky breath. "Better now." She scanned your face for a moment before nodding. "Okay," she said, stepping closer and winding her arms around you. "Okay." Your tears caught you off guard. Yeji held you tight as you hid your face in the crook of her neck, dampening the collar of her dress.
On the drive home you made a pit stop at Yuna's favorite ice cream shop. When you got to the house Yuna greeted you at the door. You barely finished telling her that everything went well before she launched into a fast and rambling narrative about everything she did with Maya. She kept it up as you took the lids off the four sundaes and settled around the kitchen table.
You and Yeji didn't have to exchange a look to know you were on the same page, but your eyes found each other anyway. "Sounds like you had a great day, kiddo," Yeji said. Yuna nodded and blushed, like she just registered that she was talking so much. Maya picked up the story where she left off, and Yuna took the opportunity to dive into her ice cream. You tried to give her space and listen to Maya, but you couldn't help but notice that after a few bites she stopped eating.
Instead, she concentrated on mixing the sundae with her spoon until it turned into ice cream soup. Every so often you felt Yuna's gaze on you, but when you smiled at her she looked away. You swept your fingers beneath your eyelids, hoping your mascara hadn't run. She didn't say much for the rest of the night.
The one future event that Yuna doesn't mind planning for is the group home's Summer Sock Hop. It makes sense that the dance is a safe mental space for her, especially since she's going with Sunoo, her longest constant.
Ever since Yeji talked Yuna off the edge by promising to help her learn to dance, family lessons had begun in earnest. While they started off as an instructional practice focused on modern dance moves and a bit of swing, the lessons have, unsurprisingly, veered off course.
Today you're perched on an ottoman, which has been pushed against the wall, along with the rest of the living room furniture. In the cleared space in the middle of the room your wife and daughter are waltzing. Or attempting to waltz, anyway. Any other kid would be in hysterics by now, but Yuna is taking it very seriously, back straight and shoulders squared. Yeji is playing the YouTube tutorial on the TV with the music turned up loud, but you can still Yuna murmuring the step count -- "one - two - three, one - two - three" -- under her breath.
You could watch them for hours, you think, leaning back on your forearms. You smile to yourself when you realize that's not hyperbole. "Hey pretty girl," Yeji calls over, nearly stepping on Yuna's foot. "You're next on my dance card." You roll your eyes. "My shoulder's still sore." Yuna looks at you with a furrowed brow. She's still counting the steps, but you hear her unspoken question clear as day. "I pulled it reaching for a book on a high shelf at work," you tell her. "No big deal."
"Ryujiniieeee." Yeji sighs. "You just missed the perfect opportunity for a joke." "Oh yeah? Like what?" "Well, I'd have to workshop it, but there's a pun in there, somewhere. Like, with shoulders and 'the weight of the world.' Or maybe something to do with Atlas..." She bites her lip, apparently workshopping the joke on the spot. An impressive feat, mid-waltz.
"Oh -- I know," she says. "A pick-up line!" Yuna yelps when Yeji suddenly dips her -- a move you all mastered during tango week -- but she goes with it. Yeji winks at her before hitting you with her best smolder. "Hey baby, are your shoulders sore? Because you could hold up my world all night." "Oh my god." You throw your head back as you laugh. "That's so bad. It doesn't even make sense." "Whatever." She pulls a giggling Yuna back up to standing and they return to waltzing. "It'll come to me."
Neither of you notice that the video tutorial has ended until Yuna comes to a stop and lets out a long breath. She nods to herself, and you can tell by her face that she's pleased she made it through the whole song without missing a step (spontaneous dips aside). You sit up straight so you can applaud. "Well done, you," you say in an English accent -- a souvenir from your London trip. "I love watching you succeed when you put your mind to something." You cringe inwardly at how awkward you just sounded, but Yeji gives you a subtle thumbs up.
The two of you have been trying to adjust the way you praise Yuna so that you acknowledge her hard work and determination rather than her innate abilities. The technique, according to a study shared by your favorite foster parenting Facebook group, is supposed to build self-esteem and perseverance. Kids think that intelligence is fixed, researchers found, so telling them they get good grades because they worked hard is better than saying it's because they're smart. This approach makes sense to you, but you're driven by more than that. It makes you feel good to emphasize Yuna's role in forging her own destiny. You don't ever want her to think that her cleverness came from anyone but herself. The new brand of praise doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but it seems any awkwardness was lost on Yuna, who practically puffs out her chest with pride.
"Thank you," she says, blushing a bit. She bites her lip and looks between you and Yeji. "Just do it backwards." You blink. "What?" "The waltz. Lead with your arm that doesn't hurt." Yeji makes a sound between a snort and a snicker, peering at Yuna with a hand on her hip. "What makes you think your Mum's gonna lead?" It's bait and you know it, but you take it anyway.
You're standing by the time Yeji turns her gaze on you. She's trying to look nonchalant but you see right through it -- the script is different, but you've run this scene many times before. "Oh, I'm gonna lead," you say. You take her hand and walk her to the center of the room. Yuna gasps with delight and hurries over to the remote. "Ready?" You take Yeji's hand on your good side and grip her waist with your other hand. There's still some space between you so you step in close.
"I'm ready," you say, eyes steady on your wife. She smirks at you as she gently takes your waist and crowds in even closer, until you can feel her breath hot on your cheek. Her lashes flutter, gaze briefly dropping to your lips, and suddenly you don't feel ready at all. You try not to let on, but she knows. She lets out a soft hum, like you've just confirmed her suspicions, and this time her breath grazes your mouth. It takes all your willpower not to sway against her. "Me too," she drawls.
Somewhere off to the left Yuna groans. "You're not supposed to stand that close." "Oops." Yeji tilts her head, nose brushing over yours, and you can almost taste her lips when she takes a step back. You try to glare as she appraises you, but you doubt it does anything to hide your hooded eyes or the flush spreading across your cheeks. "Now we're ready," she says. "Finally," Yuna mutters.
The music starts and it takes a second for you to remember that you're supposed to lead. You lift your chin and wait a few beats -- as if the delay was intentional -- before taking the first step. You've never waltzed before, but it turns out watching Yuna and Yeji learn the steps was enough. These things come easily to you. Athleticism was probably your earliest source of confidence. You relied on sports as an outlet throughout your youth, playing on organized teams when your foster parents' sprung for the entry fee and finding pick-up games when they didn't. Often, it was the only consistent thing in your young life.
Even when the rest of your world was spiraling out of control, you could always maneuver the ball wherever you wanted it to go. Waltzing, it seems, is no different. You get that old feeling, confident and surefooted, as you guide Yeji around the living room. There can't be any doubt who's leading who now. This part is familiar, too -- Yeji ceding control. You raise your chin and watch her eyes fall to your lips for the second time in as many minutes. It's nothing like before, though. This time you're the force she's reacting to.
You smirk and tighten your grip on her waist. "Yeah yeah, you're good at stuff, we know this," she huffs. "Thought leading backwards would at least give you some trouble, though." You hear Yuna giggle from her perch on the arm of the sofa. "I didn't." You give Yeji a twirl -- purely to show off -- and turn to beam at Yuna. She smiles back without taking her eyes off Yeji's phone, which, you realize after a beat, she's using to film you. (Honestly, this kid.)
Yeji cheeks are flushed when you pull her back into your arms, but, to her credit, she still levels you with a pretty decent glare. "Of course, your mini-me takes your side." You shrug. "She just has an accurate understanding of my natural abilities." "Maybe so..." Yeji hits you with a smarmy grin, and you know this part of the play is almost up.
She moves her hand from your waist and trails her fingers up and across your spine until she reaches the edge of the bandage beneath your shirt. "But I know where your weak spots are," she whispers. She's not smirking, anymore. Maybe because your weak spots are now her weak spots, too. Maybe because you both know she's not talking about what's beneath the cotton gauze.
You're going off script, but you don't care as you dip your chin to kiss her. The soft breath that catches in the back of her throat tells you that you've caught her off guard, and you smile against her lips. The waltz is still playing in the background but you must've stopped dancing at some point -- a fact you only realize when Yeji runs her tongue across your bottom lip and you don't stumble. After one last lingering kiss you step back, putting some space between you, except for her hands, which you catch in yours. For once she looks just as bewildered as you do by this sudden wallop of emotions, which seem to be coming fast and furious these days.
As if on cue, you both turn to Yuna. You're not sure what you're expecting -- maybe a sarcastic comment about how gross you're being, or a grumble about not taking the dance seriously. What you're definitely not expecting is to find her curled up in the middle of the sofa and not even paying attention. Not to you, anyway. Her eyes are trained on Yeji's phone, which is resting on her knees, and she has a dreamy smile on her face.
The waltz tutorial on the TV comes to an end, but you still hear the music coming from the device in your kid's lap. You and Yeji nestle in on either side of her and watch the video -- the one she just took of the two of you -- over her shoulder. "You're not really doing it right," Yuna whispers without taking her eyes off the screen, "but it's beautiful."
If that's not the best description of parenting, you don't know what is.
The floor of Yuna's room is littered in dresses. You're a pretty neat and orderly person, but you can't help but smile at this bright, tulle-filled chaos. Your kid is in the eye of it, literally swirling to see how this dress -- sunshine yellow and the last one from her closet -- floats above her knees.
By the way she chews on her lip, and you know this one isn't right, either. "Let me try the red again," she says, plucking it from floor. The extent that Yuna is fretting over the dress choice for this dance makes your heart swell. You're tempted to FaceTime Yeji so she can witness this adorableness, but she's out to dinner with a client and you don't want to bother her.
Yuna zips up the red dress and gives it another twirl. Your "annoyingly sensible" daughter (Yeji's words) wouldn't let either of you buy her a new dress for the Summer Sock Hop on account of the dozens already in her closet. One of them would be perfect, she'd said. But now, as she steps in front of the mirror in the latest contender, you can tell that's not the case.
After appraising her reflection in the mirror Yuna nods resolutely. "This one," she says. "You sure?" She shifts on her feet. "Yes." "Because I might have another for you to try." You shrug as nonchalantly as you can. "If you want." "You... you do?" she asks, eyes widening. "Mhmm. Be right back." You let the smile you'd been repressing spread across your face as you jog to your bedroom. You were hoping this would happen. Even though Yuna said no new dresses, you couldn't resist buying one that caught your eye at the children's boutique near work. It was a little pricey, but she's been kinda stressed lately and you wanted to surprise her with something nice.
When you get back to Yuna's room, dress behind your back, she's waiting for you with eager hands clasped under her chin. You wink at her, drawing out the suspense, and she rises onto her tiptoes in anticipation. "Before I show you, I just want to say if you don't want to wear it for the dance that is completely fine. I won't be upset, okay?" "Okay!" You're tempted to keep teasing her but she's bouncing on the balls of her feet and you can't stand to torment her any longer.
Slowly, you bring the dress out from behind your back and hold it up by the hanger. It's not like any of the other dresses in her closet. This one is a denim-blue cotton with red polka dots, cinched at the waist with a red belt. The skirt flares out to a hem of delicate wavy ruffles, and even in the store you could imagine them fanning out as your daughter did one of her trademark twirls. Sure enough, the hemline is where Yuna's eyes keep returning to as she takes the dress in. She steps forward and traces the neckline with her fingertips. "It's pretty," she breathes.
You love that for any other kid, 'pretty' is a middle-of-the-road adjective at best, but to yours it's the highest praise.
"Try it on," you say, holding it out to her. "Take it on a test spin." She grins at you. "Literally." You groan as she sticks her tongue out at you, already shucking the red dress. Once she's slipped on the new one, she turns so you can help with the clasp. You have to brush her hair aside to do so, and you can't help but run your fingers through the silky brown strands. In some ways it feels like just yesterday she arrived with a frown and a buzzcut. You're so glad both of those things are sealed safely away in the past. "You'll need a trim soon," you say, kissing the top of her head. And even though you're standing behind her, you still notice the way her chest fills with pride.
"Alright, let's see." She steps in front of the mirror and takes in her reflection for a moment before looking down at her body, as if to confirm what the mirror's showing is true. She glances at you over her shoulder. "It's perfect." Now you're really regretting not Face Timing Yeji, because the way Yuna is beaming at you is the payoff. These past few weeks have been a lot -- what with the meetings and hearings and legal fees -- but seeing your kid happy makes it all worth it.
"Not so fast," you say. You hold out your hand and it only takes a second for Yuna to realize what you mean. She places her hand in yours and lets you pull her in close, just like the dancers in some of her favorite movie night musicals. You squeeze her fingers right before you spin her away from you. Without letting go, you raise your hands higher, above her head, to anchor her as she continues twirling.
The dress flares out beautifully, just as you'd imagined it would, but that's nothing compared to the smile on your kid's face. She doesn't glance at the mirror as she turns, or even down at the dress. Instead, she tilts her head back and trains her eyes on your joined hands. "It's like I'm in a music box," she breathes. Then she falls over. You gasp louder than you'd care to admit and then you're kneeling beside her, cradling her head. At least three layers of discarded dresses cushioned her fall and, logically, you know she's okay, but that doesn't stop your heart from pounding inside your chest.
It's still hammering away when Yuna bursts out into hysterical giggles. "Woah. Is the whole room spinning, or that just me?" You let out a shaky laugh. "Your Ma asked me that same question in college, once," you say. "More than once, actually." Yuna's eyes widen. "Really? Was she twirling, too?" "Something like that." You stand and take both of her hands to help pull her up. "Easy there, ballerina."
Once you've guided a giggly, stumbling Yuna to her bed (and getting hit with more drunken college flashbacks), you nudge a snoozing Waffles out of the way so you can sit beside your daughter. "You really like it?" you ask, smoothing out the now-disheveled ruffles. Yuna grins. "I love it. But..." She pauses and looks down at her lap, like she used to when she couldn't find the words. You didn't always know what to do, back then. It was especially hard in the early days, before you'd really gotten to know each other.
More than anything you wanted her to understand that it was safe to say or express whatever she felt. That you and Yeji would listen to her, would believe and value her, no matter what. Of course, your brave, warm, earnest wife would just come right out and say it. And though Yuna didn't always respond, you could tell the words affected her.
She would get this look in her eyes that fell somewhere between disbelief and astonishment. (Yeji thought it meant Yuna didn't trust her kindness, but you had a feeling the thing she didn't trust was someone was being that kind to her.) You'd tried Yeji's approach once or twice during those first few weeks, but it didn't come as easily to you.
You felt stiff and awkward and a little sad, because it reminded you that Yeji grew up in a home like the one you were trying to create, and that you very much did not. You didn't have to ask her if her mom professed those same reassurances when she was little, because you just knew she did. You'd bet money on it. She'd been dead for years, but when Yeji would tell Yuna that she'd always listen to her, no matter what, it was almost like she was in the room with you. And, don't get you wrong, those moments were beautiful. You're so incredibly grateful your wife had a childhood like that.
But whenever you tried to mimic her parenting style, it always felt like she knew all the lines while you never even got the script. So, you learned to show Yuna you were listening in your own way. Sometimes with no words at all. And she responded to that, too. Not in the same way that she did to Yeji's words, but even then -- when you were still practically strangers -- you could tell she sensed the emotional space you were giving her. It's so much different, now. Somewhere along the way you stopped actively worrying about her feeling safe and listened to and loved, because you knew she did. But lately, with all that's going on, she sometimes still needs space to gather her words, and you're always happy to give it to her.
Waffles purrs in his sleep and you and Yuna both reach out to pet him. You pass a few quiet moments like that, listening to the cat's happy sounds and trying not to focus on the way your daughter worries her bottom lip. "I really do love the it," she says after a while. "But why did you buy it when I already have so many dresses?" You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and try to think of the best way to explain it.
"Remember that big snow storm last winter when school was canceled the night before, so your Mama made hot chocolate and we all cuddled in our bed watching Christmas movies? And then the next morning we woke up to a foot of snow, but it was so cozy in bed that we didn't get out for hours and hours?" Yuna looks a little confused about where you're going with this, but she nods. "Well, that's how I feel every time I make you happy. Your Ma does, too. We love taking care of you, Yuna." Yuna bites her lip and looks down at her toes. She's blushing from your words but you can tell she's conflicted about something, so you squeeze her shoulder and give her time to collect her thoughts.
"Do you..." she starts, wringing her hands and still not meeting your eyes. "Do you think you always will?" You duck your head and lean in close, like you're going to whisper a secret. "Yes," you tell her. "Always." She smiles at you halfheartedly and you pinch her cheek to try to lift her spirits. "And the adoption next month will seal the deal." The mere mention of the A-word makes her smile fall. You can practically see the doubt swirling in her mind and you would give anything to make it stop.
This is a different kind of silence, and you don't like to let it go on for very long. "Princess," you say, taking her hand. "What are you thinking about right now? Can you tell me?" This approach didn't work the 10 other times she shut down, but you've never been a quitter. You're about to tell her that it's okay -- that she can talk to you whenever she's ready -- when she clears her throat.
"Sometimes foster parents say they'll adopt you, but they don't mean it. Or sometimes the judge doesn't let it happen." She looks at you with wide, wounded eyes and for the millionth time you curse the universe for not giving this kid a loving home from the start. "And you're worried that will happen to you?" She shrugs and looks away again, almost like she's in trouble. "It's okay to feel that way," you tell her. "I get it. I felt the same when Rose said she was going to adopt me." Yuna meets your gaze again and you continue on.
"At first I was so excited, but then I convinced myself it was too good to be true. That a kid like me could never be so lucky." "So, what happened?" "Well, I was older than you and didn't talk about my feelings much, so I felt like that right up until the moment the court made it official." You reach out to squeeze her hand. "But I don't want it to be like that for you. Anytime you feel sad or worried or unsure let's talk about it, okay?" Yuna nods, smiling again. "Okay." "I promise your Mama and I aren't changing our mind about this. And the lawyer says the judge should have no problem approving the adoption. Besides, we're a family no matter what."
There's a beat before Yuna scoots closer and winds her arms around your shoulders. You close your eyes as you hug her back, trying to will every ounce of love you have into her. She hums contentedly and shifts sideways, probably on a path to kiss your cheek, but she never gets there because her fingers brush over the edge of the bandage on your shoulder. Yuna leans back to look at you, concern written all over her face. "Is that for your pulled muscle?" You press your hand to your forehead, because it figures that your kid would catch you in a white lie right after you asked her to be open with you. "Not exactly," you say. "Let's clean up in here and then I'll show you."
Yeji gets home while Yuna is putting on her PJs. You're so relieved, because you knew she wouldn't want to miss this and you didn't know if you could stall much longer. You start filling her in on everything she's missed in a rushed whisper, only pausing to smile at her reactions to the particularly cute/funny/heart-wrenching parts. Then you tiptoe upstairs and into your bedroom so Yeji can remove the bandage for you. "It's healed nicely," she says, brushing your hair over your other shoulder. "Good."
She's quiet as she gently traces a finger beneath your shoulder blade and you try not to think about how her face must look right now. Then she sniffs and you move away to rummage through your dresser drawers, because you're already barely holding it together as it is. It's not quite tank top weather but you slip on a racerback and layer it with a zip-up hoodie.
From the hall you hear the bathroom door opening followed by Yuna singing to herself as she walks back to her room. You risk a glance at Yeji and her eyes are still shiny but it's worth it, because she looks like she's about to combust from the cuteness of that little moment. "That's a happy kid," you tell her. "Yeah, it is." Yeji clears her throat and reaches for your hand. "Let's go make her even happier."
Not long later, Yeji and Yuna are nestled in on either side of you on the living room sofa. Everyone's in their pajamas and Yuna's favorite blanket is spread across your laps. As with the other unveilings you've had in this room, Yeji is jiggling her knee with excitement and Yuna is quiet and acutely focused on whatever is to come.
You decide to start at the beginning. "So, Princess," you say, pushing up the sleeve of your hoodie, "do you remember this day?" She looks down at your wrist -- at your diamond tattoo -- without any further prompting and a soft smile grows on her face. "When I colored it in?" "Mhmm. Feels so long ago now, doesn't it?" "It does. That was right after we built my treehouse." "Wow, that's right," Yeji says. "You have a great memory, kiddo." Yuna shrugs. "A lot has happened that I could never forget." You immediately glance at Yeji, who's already pouting so hard it must hurt. She clutches her hand to her chest and you reflexively roll your eyes before returning your attention to Yuna.
"You'd only been living with us for a few months before I had my tattoo artist make your colors permanent." "Five," she says. "Five months." "That's right." You smile at her. "Just five months. Which isn't a lot of time, is it?" "Not even half a year." "Exactly. We hadn't even known each other for half a year. But I just knew that I wanted your little afternoon coloring project on my skin forever." She runs her finger over your color-splashed diamond before looking up at you. "Why?" You swallow thickly and fight the urge to look at Yeji, because you've almost made it through. "Because I knew I wanted you forever," you tell Yuna, voice cracking only a little.
"We both did." The two of you look at Yeji, then, who's trying to hide a trembling bottom lip behind her fingers. "You did?" Yuna asks. Yeji nods. "We pretty much knew right away." Yuna's eyes go wide and start to look a bit glassy, and you have no idea how you're supposed to keep it together when you're wedged between these two saps. All you can do is blink back your tears and carry on. "I know thinking about the big day we have coming up makes you nervous. And we get that. But like I was saying to you earlier, we're a family no matter what. And I think we've been one for longer than any of us realized. So, I did something to make it official even before any legal documents are signed." Without any further ado, you scoot forward on the couch and unzip your hoodie, letting the fabric slide off your shoulders.
You wait a few beats in silence, and just as you're getting worried about the lack of reaction you feel Yuna's gentle fingers brushing your hair to the side so she can get a better view. You look over your shoulder to give her an appreciative smile, but she doesn't notice. Her eyes are trained on your back, where three tiny raccoons sit beneath a starry forest. She smooths a finger along your skin until she reaches a spot just to the left of your shoulder blade.
A soft smile touches her lips and you'd bet anything she's focused on the raccoon in the center -- the smallest one, with a pink bow sitting askew on its head. "This is from Christmas," Yuna whispers, brow furrowing as she puts it together. "The drawing Mama gave you." "That's right," you say, in an equally hushed tone. "But it was never just a drawing -- it was always going to become this." Yuna lets her hand fall to her lap. She tilts her head to the side, eyes still glued to your shoulder, but doesn't speak. "I have to admit -- I plagiarized a little," Yeji says. "I traced one of your first raccoon drawings. Do you know which one?" "Your birthday card," Yuna replies, still looking straight ahead. "When you surprised me and Mum in the park." You glance at Yeji and see she's just as touched as you are that Yuna recalled that day so quickly.
It was the end of the first length of time you spent alone with her. You can still remember how scared you were the morning Yeji left for the airport. You'd felt a little ashamed, too -- that it was your idea to become foster parents and, now that the time had come, you didn't know if you could do it alone. But you and Yuna figured it out together. "It was the first drawing of our raccoon family," you remind her.
Your neck is starting to cramp from looking over your shoulder for so long, but Yuna's still staring at your tattoo like it holds the answer to some unspoken question, so you don't move. You're not sure how you thought this unveiling was going to go, but you certainly didn't anticipate long stretches of bewildered silence.
Yeji's starting to look a little worried too, and you're about to suggest picking the conversation up again in the morning when Yuna speaks. "Raccoons were one of the first things you taught me to draw," she tells Yeji, taking her eyes off your back for the first time since you shrugged off your hoodie. Before Yeji can respond, Yuna turns back to you. "And you bought us those raccoon onesies." You nod, but she's already looking at the mantle, where the birthday card she made for Yeji sits next to a framed photo of the three of you in the aforementioned onesies.
Yuna bites her lip and blinks three times in quick succession, and you can tell she's on the brink of something. Then she takes a shuddering breath and you instinctively turn to put an arm around her. "Me too," she says, voice cracking. She looks between you and Yeji like she's just told you the answer you've been waiting on.
You rub her back in slow, soothing circles. "You too what, Princess?" A few fat tears slip down her cheeks, and she lets Yeji wipe them away before responding. "I knew right away, too," she whispers. "That I wanted to stay with you forever." You bend down to kiss her temple, and when you feel her lean into your touch the tears you'd been holding at bay all night finally break free. You're still a little astonished that what you thought would be a fun surprised turned into such a heavy moment, but you're glad you gave Yuna the opportunity to express some of what she's been feeling, however unintentional.
Then, like the best thoughts do, something strikes your funny bone out of nowhere. "Well, that's a relief," you say. "Because it'd be unfortunate if I got a tattoo of us as a family and you didn't want to stay with us forever." You're met with silence again and you worry the joke wasn't as funny as it sounded in your head, but then Yuna clamps both hands over her mouth, barely muffling a giggle that grows into a peal of laughter.
Yeji's shaking her head at you like you're crazy, but she's laughing too, and then Yuna doubles over, clutching her stomach at the hilarity of it all. There are happy tears in Yuna's eyes when she leans back against the cushions, like she's exhausted from the hilarity. She smiles at you in a way that only Yuna can -- sweet and bashful and unyielding to all of the defenses you've built up over the years.
Her love cuts to the core of you, leaving you raw and exposed and utterly complete. "I feel better," she says.
And that's all you ever wanted.