NOAH
By the time the guests started arriving, I'd transformed into a ghost.
Invisible. Silent. Useful only for carrying things.
The doorbell rang, and I heard my father's booming voice from the entryway.
"Robert! Patricia! So glad you could make it!"
Warm. Welcoming. The kind of voice he never used with me.
I was in the kitchen, arranging banchan in small ceramic dishes, when my mother appeared beside me.
"Take these out," she said, gesturing to a tray laden with side dishes. "And refill the water glasses. Then come back for the japchae."
I nodded and lifted the tray.
The dining room was already filling up with people.
Aunts and uncles I barely remembered. Elderly neighbors who'd watched Nick and me grow up and had clearly picked their favorite. My father's work colleagues in their business casual attire. My mother's church friends, all smiles and polite conversation.
The divide was immediate and obvious.
