“His drawings are really good. They remind me of European impressionist art, but they’re lifelike too. Full of detail.”

My mother shifted on her cushion and turned to her sister who was leaning back against the wall, her belly full.

“She’s going to marry Jun-oh soon.”

My aunt squeezed my buttocks and thighs. I moved away before she could get to my breasts. She said it was a good thing we were getting married. She’d take charge of my outfit and makeup. She looked me in the eye. And the glasses. My mother said I was thinking about getting contact lenses, I was such a spoiled, fickle creature. My aunt disagreed, she’d always thought my glasses were hideous. As a matter of fact, why not have me operated on? Operations were cheaper now in Gangnam. She’d be happy to pay for it if my mother didn’t have the money.

“It’s not a question of being able to afford it,” my mother said as she served me more soup. “She’s lovely as she is, glasses included, she doesn’t need altering.”

I couldn’t get the spoon from the bowl to my mouth any more. My aunt was breathing heavily, the soju taking effect, her chin gleaming. She looked at me again, asked me why I was stuffing myself. My mother panicked and told her she shouldn’t make that kind of remark to me when, for once, I was eating. I tightened my fingers on the spoon. My aunt helped herself to more kimchi and chewed it, open-mouthed. Bits of pickled cabbage spurted out from between her lips and landed among the dishes, coated in a film of reddish saliva. I stared at the bits and looked up at my aunt. She gave me a dirty look and picked up the scraps of kimchi with the tips of her chopsticks. I stood up and put on my coat, told them I was heading back to the guest house. My aunt raised an eyebrow at my mother. I wasn’t going to the cemetery then? My mother gave me a pleading look. Then she turned to her sister, gave a shrug of resignation, and watched me as I left.

There were no more buses at that hour. I walked with my arms wrapped around my abdomen. I’d stuffed myself again. My stomach hurt from all the food I’d crammed into it.

I tried not to make a noise when I got back, but Kerrand had left his door half open and poked his head out when I walked past. I didn’t stop, and shut myself in my room. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, my hair messed up by the wind, straggling worm-like around my face, my skirt splattered with sand and mud. If only Kerrand hadn’t seen me like this. Not with this misshapen body, my stomach bloated from all that soup. I wanted this image of me erased from his mind.

Sleep. I needed to sleep.