I think to myself, What a strange question, and reply, biting into a crispy apple: “What kind of question is that? And what’s up with your mom? It’s nice of her that she got me all these things, but it’s a bit much.”

“It’s hard to explain, or maybe it’s not so hard. Oh shoot, I said I wouldn’t use the honorific, but here I am again. Okay,” he switches back to casual. “My parents are separated. My dad lives in Italy. He’s a tour guide for the Korean tourists, and also a professor of music. Voice, to be specific. He rides his boats everywhere. Mom says he’s stricken with wanderlust.”

“When did your parents separate?”

“As soon as I got into university. So it’s been a while. My mom had an affair with a movie director, someone my father knew too. And the director was … a woman. Does that surprise you?”

“So you’re saying, the person your mother fell in love with was a woman?” I’ve never heard anyone say this out loud.

“Yeah, they couldn’t live without each other, or so I heard. This is the first time I’ve talked about this. I can’t tell anyone, how am I supposed to explain this kind of situation? Do I just say my mom is … a lesbian? How do I make sense of things like that for myself and others? I have no word. I guess the correct term would be … bisexual?” He covers his face with his hands, and his shoulders shake. He looks like a distressed adolescent. No, a child. I get up from the bed and walk around him to pat his back from behind. I open my arms, wrap my arms around his curled-up-body, and pull him into my chest. It’s like I’ve become a mama bird nesting her egg. A sob jumps out of my mouth unexpectedly. We are thinking of different things, but we are crying together. When our tears stop and our eyes slowly open, will we find ourselves different from before? Will we be able to love each other as we have become—these new images of each other?