Behind Lisa, Kelly winces and mouths, “Sorry,” as she’s aware I deliberately kept my mouth shut. I don’t like the spotlight in any way. Sometimes people ask me if I have any writing aspirations, but I don’t. I’m happy as a copy editor, where I pay attention to detail, rather than as the author of a work, who has their name in the byline. There’s something safe and secure about laboring behind the scenes.

“I can’t believe you came to work yesterday. You should have told me your father had passed. I would’ve authorized another two days of leave for you.” Lisa clucks. “Here, we brought flowers. Jeffrey, where are you?”

“Here they are. We ran into your sister outside, too.” He shoves a bouquet of lilies into my arms.

“Sister?” I don’t have a sister.

“It’s me.” Boyoung Kim steps out from behind the bevy of coworkers to give a small wave.

“You aren’t sisters?” Jeff asks. “Aren’t you both Chin—”

“Korean,” Kelly interrupts. Her eyes plead with me not to say anything because we all know Jeffrey falls into the ignorant rather than hateful category. “They don’t look anything alike. Hey, Boyoung. Nice to see you again.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Hara.” Boyoung dips her head and offers a white envelope, extending one hand while using her other to hold up her elbow. It’s a polite Korean gesture that I’ve seen Boyoung make to many people, including clerks at stores when she hands over her credit card.

“So you two are like cousins? From Korea?”

“They’re not related,” Kelly snaps. “Come on. Let’s go inside.” She grabs Jeff’s arm and drags him into the reception room.

As they’re leaving, Jeff can be heard saying, “They look alike and they’re both from Korea. What are the odds?”

I exchange a wry smile with Boyoung. It’s not the first time we’ve been called sisters, because, unfortunately, all of us Asians look the same to a lot of people around here, but side by side, Boyoung and I are as different as stripes and polka dots. Boyoung is small, coming up to my nose. She has big, wide eyes that always tend to make her appear slightly surprised. Once she told me that she wished she had had the double-eyelid surgery because everyone mistakes her for being far younger than her actual age of twenty-six. Her hair is cut in a chin-length bob and she has a Bratz-doll lower lip and a thin upper one that tends to disappear if she doesn’t wear lip gloss.

At five-six, I’m tall for a Korean. My hair is long and layered and, if I’m feeling energetic, sometimes I curl it into big beach waves. I have a lot of hair. My eyelids do have a crease, which Boyoung envies. The shape of my eyes is not almond—I don’t know any Asian whose eyes are actually almond-shaped and I’m not certain how that became a thing—but rather they curve inward near the bridge of my nose. Boyoung says that they look like a dragon’s eyes. She always has the nicest descriptions of my features.