Hyunsoo eyed Acoustic carefully from across the room, taking his time to double check the list. “Hey,” he said. “Noona.”
“Yeah?” Rhea looked up from the couch.
“What’s the name of those ugly hypoallergenic cats? The ones that look like gremlins.”
“Sphynx cats,” Rhea looked back at her book. “But Siberian long haired cats are pretty good for allergies too. Why?”
“Checklist,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” Rhea looked at him, then back to her book. “Okay.”
Hyun’s checklist, as had become apparent to Rhea, was something Hyun had to figure out for himself. When he got back from work, he would prowl through their apartment looking for sharp corners to buff out, low surfaces, places fingers could get jammed, electrical sockets. Anything that might be a danger. He skimmed catalogues for childproof locks and doorstops, to keep doors open, to keep them from slamming shut on little fingers.
At night, at the end of a rough day, picturing all that could so easily go wrong, he would sit on the bed beside his wife and place a hand on her heavily pregnant stomach and try to calm down.
Rhea had her own coping methods. There were charts she’d formulated, lists and books to memorise. There were ideas, trends to figure out. Did parent-baby yoga classes help later in life? Did classical music? He could see her moving her lips slightly as she read through studies and worked shit out in her head. Different ways of coping.
"I'm nervous," he told her one night, as she flipped through a book.
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checklist
“Yeah?” Rhea looked up from the couch.
“What’s the name of those ugly hypoallergenic cats? The ones that look like gremlins.”
“Sphynx cats,” Rhea looked back at her book. “But Siberian long haired cats are pretty good for allergies too. Why?”
“Checklist,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” Rhea looked at him, then back to her book. “Okay.”
Hyun’s checklist, as had become apparent to Rhea, was something Hyun had to figure out for himself. When he got back from work, he would prowl through their apartment looking for sharp corners to buff out, low surfaces, places fingers could get jammed, electrical sockets. Anything that might be a danger. He skimmed catalogues for childproof locks and doorstops, to keep doors open, to keep them from slamming shut on little fingers.
At night, at the end of a rough day, picturing all that could so easily go wrong, he would sit on the bed beside his wife and place a hand on her heavily pregnant stomach and try to calm down.
Rhea had her own coping methods. There were charts she’d formulated, lists and books to memorise. There were ideas, trends to figure out. Did parent-baby yoga classes help later in life? Did classical music? He could see her moving her lips slightly as she read through studies and worked shit out in her head. Different ways of coping.
"I'm nervous," he told her one night, as she flipped through a book.
"Yeah," she said. "Me too."