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“Which leaves me time to get to the store and work the night shift!” she adds.

Oh God, I moan. Are all Korean women like this? Are they all unsatisfied merely holding down hard jobs while being dutiful daughters, wives and mothers? Do they all have to run extended-family boardinghouses, take classes in flower arranging, start a youth group at their church and master the art of traditional Korean cooking (based on vegan principles, of course) at the same time?

As we’re having this conversation I notice that Gab has taken out some of her dour old shoulder-padded jackets and knee-length gray skirts from the storage closet in Kay’s basement.

“Well, even if you don’t remember how miserable you were, I do. You spent seventeen hours a day in a windowless office reading contracts. At night you came home and ate a scoop of rice in a bowl of tap water. You slept all weekend and went right back to the office on Monday. Your appetite for life seemed to disappear.”

“Do you have any kind of evidence for that? Did you write any of that down? Because honestly, I’m having trouble remembering it that way.”

I feel like I’m trying to unbrainwash a zombie. Maybe I should sabotage her job application by calling up the bank after her interview to tell them that Gab owns a failing deli. Who would want to hire someone who can’t even run a convenience store?

“This is insane. You’re being just like your mother.”

Which causes Gab to stop unpacking her suits and sit down close to me—very, very close.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” she whispers. “Turn down a potential job offer? In case you haven’t noticed, WE NEED MONEY.” She pauses. “Did you notice?”

“Of course.”

“Well, someone needs to do something about it. My student loans are about to kick in again. And if we’re ever going to move out of this basement, we need to stop waiting for the store to pay us back, because at this point I don’t know if it ever will.”

I stare at Gab and try not to look dumb. What about it, lazy bastard? What’s your plan?

In my defense, lately I have been trying to pull in more money, but so far not one of my magazine pitches has been accepted. Most of the time I’m not even getting rejections, just dead air. And meanwhile, the way things have been going at the Review, I’ll be lucky to keep getting my $3.65 an hour, or whatever it is George pays me. Starting tomorrow, I vow silently, I’m going to redouble my efforts!

Then Gab drops the bomb.

“I want children,” she says.

Again, I can’t help laughing, because the thought is so absurd. Children, now of all times? Could there be a worse idea? Of course not. Even Gab knows that.

“Okay, now I can say you’ve really lost it. This isn’t you talking. You’re driven but not insane. I’m the one with unrealistic tendencies. You’re pragmatic. I’m just going to wait—you’ll get your senses back in a couple of days.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Because yes, you’re right. I have lost it. Probably I lost it a long time ago … But we don’t have the luxury of waiting for things to get easier. This is how our lives are and probably how they’ll be be for the foreseeable future. Meanwhile, I’m just getting older. So, yes, I want children.”

“That’s so … selfish of you” is all I can think to say.

Before Gab can answer, the door to our bedroom swings open and Kay strides past us toward the laundry room, where the Paks have not one but two extra refrigerators for storing food when relatives move in. Curious, I think. Is someone else coming?

Kay, sensing the tension, stops, puts down the grocery bags she’s carrying and asks if something is wrong.

“Did you tell your mother?” I ask, thinking Kay will put a halt to this nonsense. She’s not ready to manage the deli without Gab, is she? What about our personnel issues? What about Bienstock and the sales taxes?

“I’ve been invited to apply for a job,” admits Gab.

“Oh really?” says Kay. “How much they pay?”

Gab rolls her eyes. “Jeez, Oma, couldn’t you at least ask me which company it is