“The lecture went overlong and I was not able to come earlier,” my friend explains, still holding out the envelope.

I reluctantly accept the money. Boyoung is small and speaks softly, but there are certain things that are immovable for her, and the giving of gifts is one of them. It’s a custom in Korea to bring a gift everywhere.

“Thanks for coming at all.” I walk inside to deliver the gift and bouquet to the memory table. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I wanted to. Are you doing well?” Boyoung tilts her head to the side, her glossy black hair shifting like a dark curtain.

“Do I have something on my face? It’s my eyeliner, isn’t it?” Had more of it migrated after Mom tried to wipe it off? I have never gotten the hang of applying eye makeup. I’m decent at other things. I make a killer apple pie. I’m pretty good at my copyediting job. I’ve figured out that my long torso and short legs look good with high-waisted things. I know exactly what shade of red lipstick complements my skin tone. That last one took five years and several hundred dollars, but I’ve figured it out. Eye makeup still remains a mystery. One of these days, I’ll get Boyoung to help me. She does a killer wing.

“No. No. It is a . . .” She rubs her finger under her eye.

“A smudge?” I offer with a slight smile. I know she loves learning new words.

“Yes, smudge,” she exclaims. Her voice is a little loud and a few heads turn our way. Boyoung winces, but I don’t mind. I’m glad she’s here. There’s something comforting about not being the only Asian in the room. I don’t feel so alone at this, my father’s funeral.

CHAPTER TWO

“You should take a trip somewhere,” Kelly says, sucking on her vape. “Like to Bermuda. Bereavement leave should include one week where you can go anywhere in the world.”

“I’d go to Vail,” Jeff says.

“It’s May, Jeff,” Kelly reminds him.

“What? People don’t die in the winter?” He reaches down and takes the Juul from her. They argue so much, sometimes I forget the two are dating.

Kelly rolls her eyes and addresses the rest of us. “I’m sorry for the hundredth time for Jeff’s rudeness.”

I’m used to it and if Boyoung is bothered, she doesn’t show it. She’s busy messaging someone. The four of us found our way to Denny’s after the funeral, collectively agreeing that eating anything at the funeral home would be worse than starvation. The remnants of a pancakes-and-skillet breakfast that we shared for dinner are shoved to the center.

“Where would you go, Boyoung?”

“For a vacation?” She glances up from her phone. “Maybe Hawaii?” she answers tentatively. If the Korean girl thinks it’s weird that we are discussing post-funeral getaways, she doesn’t show it. I wonder how funerals are handled in Korea. Is there a wake? Is there a burial? Do they have pallbearers? In high school, one of my Jewish friends had an aunt who died and the official process of mourning took place over an entire week.