Page 2 of The Name Drop

I want to tell her I don’t know what that looks like, what that takes. I want to tell her the irony is that there’s no room in our life of luxury for the ultimate luxury of being happy. I want to remind her who my father is, as if she isn’t constantly reminded of the man she’s married to.

Instead, I cock my head and say, “Oh, I plan to have a lot of fun, Mom, don’t you worry.”

“If you need anything, anything at all, just let someone on staff know who you are. They’ll take care of you,” she says.

“Mom, we agreed that I’m going to be incognito this summer. I’ll do what Dad wants of me, but I don’t want anyone bending over backward because of who I am, because of who he is.”

Her entire face collapses with worry.

“I’ll be okay. Trust me. I’m scrappier than you think,” I say, trying to convince her. I wink at her and she laughs. I knew that would get her.

“I love you, Son,” she says to me.

My heart starts to race. It’s go time. I’m heading into the shark-infested waters of my dad’s company without anyone there as a safety net.

“Love you too, Mom,” I say, my voice sounding small in my own ears, betraying my nerves, my hesitation...my dread.

I quickly back away from the window, tap the car twice to let the driver know that I’m leaving, throw my backpack over my shoulder, and head into the airport. I walk toward a future I’m uncertain about, one I don’t even think I want.

Keep walking, I tell myself.

And I do.

1

jessica

A warm afternoon in June...

It takes three deep breaths for me to convince myself it’s not my time to die.

Why did I think it was a good idea to fly alone to New York City again? Outside with my parents, all I wanted was to get away. But now, inside on my own? I’m sweating bullets.

“Are you okay?” The irritated woman at the airline counter is clearly not into my inopportune potential panic attack, not with the line behind me snaking back and forth with impatient passengers waiting to take my spot.

I remember what I researched via the University of Google, reminding myself again how statistically unlikely it would be for my particular plane to crash and burn while I’m on it, before answering the question. I release one more deep breath and nod.

“Name,” the woman—Julie from Tampa, FL, according to her name tag—asks.

“Jessica Lee,” I answer. I pull out my driver’s license and hand it over to her.

Julie From Tampa looks down at my ID and back up at me. I stand mesmerized at how only her eyeballs move and the sheer disdain with which they laser themselves into me.

“Oh, sorry. My Korean name, the one on my license, is Yoo-Jin Lee.” I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. “I’ve been meaning to change it officially on my license and everything when I turned eighteen, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. It gets confusing. I’m usually much more organized than this. So much so that people find it annoying. But officially changing one’s name feels kinda monumental, ya know? Anyways, I’m flying to New York City...for an internship. It’s my first. I just graduated. I’m going to junior college in the fall. It’s the smart financial decision for me right now.”

Her eyeballs make their move again, rolling up to look directly at me, and then continuing upward toward her forehead, making her lashes flutter, screaming without words that she well and truly could not care less.

Right. Busy airport, irritated airline worker, not exactly the best place for me to break out into my nervous habit of oversharing. I force an awkward smile.

“Just the facts, Jessica,” my mom always says when I get sidetracked. “You sound smarter if you just speak the facts.”

This is a huge moment and I’m not going to ruin it by causing a ruckus at the airport. It’s my first time flying alone. My first time living without my parents. I’ve saved up enough money from my after-school job to supplement the pennies I’ll make from the internship and hopefully survive a summer in New York City.

If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere. At least, that’s what I hear.

And, best of all, there will be no overprotective father looking over my shoulder. It’ll be good for us both. I need to grow and make my own decisions, good and bad. And he needs to learn to let me go, his only child, his baby girl.

The conversation we had minutes ago was nothing compared to how angry Dad was when I announced I was taking a job at his place of employment, Haneul Corporation, Korea’s second largest technology company. My grouchy, overworked, underpaid father, is some kind of finance guy in their Los Angeles branch. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who hates their job more.

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