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I gulp. “Yujun, what if it was Kwon Hyeun?”
“Kwon Hyeun?” Wansu cuts in before Yujun can respond.
“Yes, she is the one who gave me your information. She and my dad—at the same time—well, you know.” I don’t feel like piling shit on Wansu’s already horrible day by bringing up bad memories.
“It could be her. She knows the whole story, yes?” Yujun asks.
“Yeah. Should I call her?”
“What’s going on?” Ellen asks. “Are you Choi Wansu? I’m Ellen Wilson, and oh my God, you’re so pretty, which of course you are because Hara is beautiful, so her mother—I mean, I’m her mother but you are, too.” Ellen bursts into tears.
Wansu looks mildly horrified and physically leans away as if the tears are some contagious disease. I put my arm around Mom and lead her over to the sofa. Wansu watches us carefully the whole way, with an odd expression of longing on her face. Does she want me to take her by the arm and help her sit down, too? The moment is fleeting, though, for in the next instant, Wansu’s face is perfectly smooth. She lifts the phone and barks out an order, and a second later, an assistant appears at the doorway bearing a tray with four cups.
“Mom got in yesterday. She’s jet-lagged,” I try to explain.
“Don’t apologize. It’s a challenging day.” Yujun presses tissues into my hand, which I pass on to Ellen.
“I’m a crier,” Ellen says as she dabs her eyes. “I cry over everything. Tell them, Hara.”
“It’s true. She cries during commercials, and not just because there is one every five minutes.”
No one even cracks a smile at my bad joke. Yujun takes a seat on the other side of my mom and pours out a cup of coffee. “It’s brewed, not instant,” he informs us as he hands the beverage to Mom. “I know Americans love their coffee.” Then he bows his head. “Please accept our apologies for what happened outside.”
“What is going on?”
The two Chois exchange looks that I can’t decipher. Mom is just as confused. The coffee rests in her hand untouched.
“Yujun?”
He won’t meet my eyes. “Let me call you a car. Mr. Park will drive you back to your house or to your mother’s hotel.”
“What hotel are you staying at?” Wansu breaks in.
“Oh, me?” Ellen points at her chest. “The Best Western in Gangnam.” She gives us a watery smile. “Like the song.”
Wansu wrinkles her nose ever so slightly. “Yujun-ah, call the Four Seasons and get our Ellen a suite. It would not be good for the Chois to have the mother of Hara not be in our best hotel.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bomi accompanies us first to the Best Western, where she handles the checkout, and then to the Four Seasons, where she handles the check-in. The check-in does not take place at the front desk. Oh no. We are shown to a private lounge, handed champagne glasses and hot towels, and invited to feast on the cheese and olives and fruit and jellies and tiny cups of pudding.
“This is nice,” Ellen whispers as she smooths a hand over the creamy leather sofa.
“Everything the Chois have is nice.” I stare at the back of Bomi’s head, which is bent over a hotel document. She knows everything. All the answers I need are sitting a few feet away from me.
“I’m not sure I should accept this room. I bet it’s superexpensive.”
“There’s no point in arguing with the Chois.” Yujun might be tight-lipped, but I’m going to drag the facts out of Bomi.
She ends her conversation with the staff person at the front and comes over to hand Mom a key card. “The room isn’t ready yet but it will be soon. You’re welcome to help yourself to anything here including the wine or beer. If there’s something that you want, tell me and the staff here will get it for you.”
“I could really use the restroom,” Mom says. “Hara? Would you like to come with?”
“No.” I don’t take my eyes off Bomi.
“Oh, all right. I’ll only be a moment.”
The minute she’s out of earshot, I grab Bomi’s hand. “Tell me everything.”
The girl twists away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bull. Shit. Your hair is still wet from the egg wash, by the way.” I glare at her. “You owe this to me, so start speaking.”
Bomi presses her lips together but I know I’m going to win this skirmish because she wants to spill. She’s dying to tell me something or she wouldn’t be sitting across from me wringing her hands. She’d be back at the IF Group next to her favorite person in the world—Choi Wansu. That she’s still sitting here with me tells me she’s got something to confess and is trying to find the courage to do so. I cross my arms across my chest and wait.
