Free Food for Millionaires

by Min Jin Lee

  “I’m going to get joint custody of Irene. She will live with us at least half the time,” he said.

  “What kind of talk is that? How?”

  “I just will.”

  “No, Teddy.”

  “Where’s Michael and Julie?” Ted looked around for his brother and sister. They should have been here.

  “How could you do that? I don’t understand what’s happened to you.”

  Delia felt sorry for Ted. She wanted to put her hand on his arm or stroke his back. But his mother wouldn’t approve.

  “Teddy, that is not nice. That’s bad.” She said this bit in English.

  Ted locked his jaw. He exhaled.

  “Come on, babe. We’re going to the hotel,” he said to Delia.

  “How could you do that to Ella?” His mother looked upon him with disgust.

  “You’re supposed to be on my side,” Ted said to her. He took hold of Delia’s hand and walked out.

  Two hundred people attended the funeral. None of the children gave a eulogy, but they sat with their mother in the front row. Mrs. Kim wailed inconsolably. She leaned against Michael—her body limp and folded like a partially filled potato sack. Julie sobbed through the length of the service.

  The trials were over, the minister said. There was comfort in this. Johnny Kim had suffered—his hard life had been filled with difficult physical labor. The body had broken down, but his soul had been perfected. The Lord loved a faithful and humble servant and would give him a fine room in His mansion. Ted could not cry; he felt as though he weren’t really there. He wasn’t in Anchorage; the heavily powdered body in the casket was not his father; and he didn’t know if there was a soul or heaven—though the ideas appealed to him. It was impossible that his father had died without saying good-bye to him. The back of his head hurt, and he pressed his hands against his temples. Delia rubbed his back.

  After the service ended, Michael and Ted stood at the back of the church while Mrs. Kim and Julie had to be seated because they could not remain standing. The guests lined up in single file and gave their respects. Michael spoke a great deal more to the guests than did Ted. Delia occupied Julie’s two sons, Eric and Shaun, who were seven and four years old, by drawing pictures of Garfield on the back of the service program.

  Back at the house, the guests came to the modest reception but didn’t linger. Many of the men and women who’d worked at Lowry’s told Michael, Julie, and Ted what a good man their father had been. They spoke of how Johnny Kim would spot you with what he had when you came up short on rent and groceries. Ted felt proud of his father, who had been kind to his friends.

  For the entire day, Michael and Julie were careful around Ted, as if they were afraid of him. Ted tried to speak to them about their lives, but Michael said almost nothing, and Julie talked on and on but said nothing interesting or new. They knew about his divorce but didn’t ask him anything. They promised to talk on the phone when Ted returned to New York, about what to do with their mother. Julie had offered to move in with the kids, but Mrs. Kim made it plain that she would continue to live alone. In the end, Ted and Delia focused on Shaun and Eric, who were lively and bright children. The younger one was smarter than the older one, Ted thought, but the older one was better looking. He would make sure that they were properly educated. When all the guests finally left, Ted decided to go, too. Their flight was at midnight, and they hadn’t checked out of the hotel yet.

  He went upstairs to get their coats from his brother’s old room, which now housed their mother’s sewing machine and a foldout bed. He had shared that room with Michael over twenty years ago. This had been his world—the shit neighborhood, the stick furniture, the backward schools, and the uneducated parents who rarely spoke. His old life made no sense to him anymore, and his father had been right to tell him to never come back.

  As he walked downstairs with the coats, he saw the crown of his mother’s head as she slowly climbed the steps.

  “I’m leaving now,” he said.

  “Already?” she said.

  “I’ll phone you from New York. I have a lot to do. The custody hearings and—”

  “Don’t take the baby away from Ella.”

  “She’s my child, too.”

  “No. Not as much as she is Ella’s. If Ella didn’t do anything wrong, then she should get the baby. You have Delia. You can have more babies with her.”

  “She can’t have children.”

  “Makes sense.” Mrs. Kim nodded to herself. She had figured that Delia must be over thirty-five, even though she was young looking.

  Ted felt cold and put on his overcoat. His mother had always been such a hard woman and full of self-righteousness. Sometimes, growing up, he had hated her. Then it came to him how Delia was almost never self-righteous. Maybe that had come from making mistakes and being judged herself. Ella hadn’t been hard, either. The women he’d loved had been much kinder than his mother. They had been more like his dad.

  “You cannot take Irene away from Ella. You’ve already ruined her life. She has to be a divorced person now. How will she survive the shame of the disgrace?”

  “Things are different now.”

  Mrs. Kim grasped the banister. “Your daddy was always so proud of you. You could never make any mistakes. He always said it was okay that you never came home. Even when he was really, really sick, he said, ‘Don’t bother Teddy because he is working so hard. Don’t bother a boy when he is working hard.’ He used to tell everyone he knew that his son went to Harvard College and Harvard Business School. You could have been homeless and living under a bridge, but you had done this thing for your father—go to Harvard. Even all the rich people were impressed when he said his son had gone to Harvard. He was so sick that he couldn’t go to your graduation or your wedding. But he didn’t want you to know how sick he was, because he couldn’t worry you. And when you had your baby and you didn’t bring her, even then, oh, your daddy was so sad. Your daddy, your daddy said, ‘Teddy must be so busy. It’s not easy to make millions of dollars a year. He doesn’t even take a vacation. He is working hard to take care of his family. Now he has to work harder. Teddy has to take care of one more person, send her to Harvard, too. Teddy is an important man in America.’” Mrs. Kim looked at him with such cold eyes that Ted grew frightened of her. He thought she hated him. “Your daddy, before he died, when he was at the hospital, your daddy said, ‘Teddy is a good boy. Don’t be mad at Teddy for not coming to see me. I know Teddy is a good boy. America is not easy, and he is successful here. I am so proud of him.’ That’s what your daddy said.”

  Ted stared at his feet. He didn’t have his shoes on yet. He couldn’t speak, and he was unable or unwilling to defend himself against this wrinkled brown woman, her hair a mop of gray wires. He had come from her body and his father’s. He didn’t know Irene, but he’d thought that if he shared custody of her, he’d get to know her so much better. He vowed to love her even if she messed up. When Ella was pregnant, after she’d been diagnosed with herpes, he had gone to church every single Sunday morning, and he had prayed for one thing: that Irene would not be harmed by the herpes that he’d somehow given Ella. Until this moment, Ted had forgotten to acknowledge that God had answered his prayers. When he was a high school student, he had asked God to let him get into Harvard and make him rich so he could take care of his parents forever. On that deal, he had made good.

  “You cannot take Irene away,” his mother said. “You should not hurt Ella any more.”

  “I’ll phone you from New York.” Ted turned away and walked past her. Everything he had ever done in his life that might have been good was canceled out by his divorce, by his falling in love with Delia while he was married to Ella, and now by wanting joint custody of Irene. His mother thought he was nothing.

  But his mother failed to understand. The lawyer had said that if Ella had full custody, she could move far away with Irene without his consent. No one would ever retain the option to take away his child.

&nb
sp; “Your daddy—” Mrs. Kim began to sob again.

  Ted froze on his step, and when he turned back to face her, she wasn’t there. Mrs. Kim had gone into her room and shut the door. The last door he recalled being shut to him was Ella’s—the night she’d found out about the herpes. But as soon as it had been opened to him, and he was let in, he had wanted to get out. He didn’t knock on his mother’s door.

  Downstairs, he helped Delia with her coat. They said good-bye to Michael, Julie, and the boys. By morning, they would be in New York.

  7 SCISSORS

  IT WAS JUST LIKE VIRGINIA TO SEND HER A LETTER via Federal Express. The cardboard envelope hit her desk on Wednesday afternoon.

  “Lost the pregnancy. Am okay. Tossed Gio. Am also okay. Desperate for a diversion, dearest Casey. P-rade! P-rade! P-rade! Am flying in on Friday night to JFK, will go to the reunion on Saturday with you, of course, then on Sunday, promised to visit Lady Eugenie in Newport. Am dying to get off Italian reds and switch to tequila. Please meet me at the house on Saturday morning at 7 a.m. I will drive there, and you can drive back. I miss you so much. Four years, Casey. Baby, we are so old. Remember, you promised me one P-rade! xxxxxxxxxxxs”

  Casey had not forgotten. Their senior year, she had promised Virginia during a reunion, where Casey was working as a bartender for some arthritic class of alumni, that she would go to exactly one P-rade with her in exchange for Virginia keeping her company that evening. Casey had no wish to be present at the annual alumni march with its orange-and-black regalia. But you couldn’t welsh on a deal.

  Jane Craft was awake at the early hour, fussing about what her daughter, Virginia, was wearing to P-rade.

  “Casey Han, don’t you think that’s a touch indecent?” Jane asked as soon as Casey walked into the apartment. Casey could see the source of complaint in the distance from the open door of the kitchen where Virginia stood. She wore an orange-and-black Pucci bikini top, a low-cut sheer shirt, and a pair of black shorts. She was busy attaching a lengthy tiger’s tail on her rear. Virginia was still in terrific shape.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaah!” Virginia squealed at the sight of her friend. She clattered toward Casey in her orange mules and hugged her as tight as she could. “You’re here! You’re here! You always come through. I knew it! I knew you’d come!” Virginia jumped up and down.

  Mrs. Craft couldn’t help smiling at her irrepressible daughter. She might have been twenty-seven years old, but she had the exact mannerisms of how she’d been at five. Neither she nor her husband, Fritzy, were like Virginia temperamentally, and for that unmitigated liveliness—as she and her husband aged and their lives grew deadly quiet—Jane Craft was increasingly grateful.

  Casey hugged Virginia back. It had been too long. In the past four years, she had turned down Virginia’s many invitations to Italy, because of money or school or work, and now she wished she’d gone to see Virginia sooner. It felt so good to be with her friend.

  Jane turned to Casey, her vexed tone reflecting more resignation than authority. She had always hoped the even-tempered Korean roommate would have a sobering influence on her fanciful daughter. Today, Casey looked older than Virginia, not physically as much as in her expression. Her eyes appeared weary, and she had lost some weight, making her face more vulnerable, her collarbones more pronounced. Less attractive, Jane thought.

  “Casey Han, you must put some sense into our Virginia. She cannot possibly walk around campus this way.”

  Casey had been put in this spot before.

  “Mrs. Craft, may I please have a glass of water?” Casey asked brightly, sounding more sixteen than twenty-six.

  “Oh, heavens, yes.” Jane Craft went to the other side of the kitchen. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, no, thank you.” Casey scowled at Virginia, feeling like a louse for diverting poor Mrs. Craft.

  “Nice work, Han,” Virginia mouthed, winking. She finished attaching her tail.

  Mrs. Craft gave Casey a glass of ice water, and she drank it. When she was done, she walked over to the sink to put away her empty glass. When she got back, her friend grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen door.

  “Mama Jane”—Virginia kissed her mother on both cheeks—“we’re off.”

  Casey waved at Mrs. Craft, appearing helpless. It was rude to dash off this way, but neither had any interest in staying there much longer.

  The twenty-fifth reunion class, the leader of P-rade, looked ridiculous but happy in their orange-and-black plaid button-down shirts and Panama hats. They formed the largest group heading out from FitzRandolph Gate, with the oldest classes marching behind, the younger ones following. Streams of old men passed by the crowds wearing tiger-striped jackets and straw boaters with matching hatbands. There were old men waving happily from golf carts and motorized wheelchairs. The spry ones carried jokey placards on wooden sticks bearing messages like SEEN EVERYTHING. DONE EVERYTHING. REMEMBER NOTHING. Wives and grandchildren marched alongside them. Would she ever be so thrilled to march with her friends across campus? Maybe if you were near ninety and doing well enough to attend this, that was something to be joyous about. Casey was twenty-six years old, but she didn’t feel anything close to happiness.

  Life seemed difficult and uncertain to her, despite the gleeful crowds and the seventy-two-degree cloudless weather. Besides, she’d never seen herself as the proud alumna type. She’d worn a white shirt and white pants, because for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where she’d put her orange beer jacket that had been distributed her senior year. Virginia had lost hers, too. Her friend cheered the locomotive at the older classes, and Casey joined along: “Hip! Hip! Rah! Rah! Rah! Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! Sis! Sis! Sis! Boom! Boom! Boom! Bah! Ninety-three! Ninety-three! Ninety-three!” The thirty-fifth reunion class returned the locomotive.

  The past classes were overwhelmingly male and white—the decades were reflected in their speckled foreheads, the deep grooves in their jutting brows, the tender wisps of hair left on their pates. They looked like children, Casey thought, very happy children. How could she begrudge them their good days? Somehow, she and these men were connected by this school. Princeton had educated her at their cost. She owed them something, didn’t she? Would she make something of her life to give something back to the school? Wasn’t that why Princeton had given her a free ride? They must have thought she’d have something to give back one day. If she got the offer at Kearn Davis and one day became a rich banker, she could send them money the way these people probably did and educate another hard-luck kid like herself. But what would happen if she didn’t? Or if she blew through her life without much to show for it? Casey bit her lip. Virginia elbowed her to keep cheering, then returned to swinging her tail. After the fifth reunion class marched, Casey and Virginia joined the class of 1993. There were fewer than fifty who’d come back. It was only their fourth year, and in this crowd, Casey tried to act more spirited.

  Poe Field was vast, the grass rubbed off in large muddy patches. A tented podium housed the school officials who announced the final arrival of each class and described its time in history back when. Gradually, the throng disassembled from the march peaceably. Everyone was in good humor. Clumps of alumni stood on the field to catch up. Children played on the side with a large beach ball. The parents didn’t chase after the children who were running around, but they watched them carelessly from where they had settled down. When she and Tina were growing up, they’d never attended anything like this with their parents. What would that be like to have parents who’d gone to Princeton? Ivy people stopped Virginia to say hello, and Casey pulled back, feeling shy. But she’d agreed to go to Ivy with Virginia after the field because she didn’t feel like seeing anyone from Charter, her eating club. Already, she’d talked to a few of her classmates, and what Casey felt was embarrassment. She should never have come back. Not like this. There was nothing glamorous or interesting to report about her life.

  In the flock of the class of 1991, Jay Currie was busy
introducing his fiancée, Keiko, to his friends. Seeing the new girl, no one asked about Casey. Most of his friends planned to meet up at the barbecue at Terrace, and Keiko was eager to go. She talked to everyone, holding his hand the entire time. His fiancée was a friendly person, far more so than Casey, who could be outgoing when necessary but was more private than he’d wished. Casey had hated dinners at his eating club and felt neutral at best about most of his close friends at Ivy, Tiger Inn, and Colonial. He was relieved that his fiancée was a social person. But he couldn’t help thinking of Casey today. They had been good together, too, and he wondered what had happened in the end. He had loved two women in his life really: Casey and Keiko. They couldn’t have been more different.

  Casey used to spend a lot of her money on clothes, but she’d also darn her socks, wash her stockings by hand, and make her own hats. She’d always had a part-time job to earn money. Keiko threw away her panty hose after wearing them once. His mother would have had a stroke if she knew. As it was, his mother was polite to the point of being awkward around Keiko and her parents.

  Maybe it didn’t matter. Keiko made almost as much money as he did as an associate at an investment bank, and her parents paid for all of her clothes. Mr. Uchida was going to buy them a co-op apartment on Fifth Avenue for a wedding present. But Jay had grown up with a single mom providing for two boys. He remembered what it was like to split a small piece of beef among the three of them—his mother claiming that she didn’t feel like eating meat. He could see no reason why he and Keiko would ever be poor, but he wondered what it would be like if they had very little. He blamed his anxiety on having read too many novels in college about the reversals of fortune in a man’s life after marrying, and he couldn’t help wanting to save and invest as much as he could. There were other considerations, thankfully: Jay had liked having sex with Casey, and he liked having sex with Keiko. That was a major positive, he thought.