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It will all work out, I can hear him saying. I clutch the red silk cord in my fist and fall asleep.
* * *
• • •
OVER OUR KALE breakfast smoothie, I repeat my apology to Wansu. “I’m sorry about dinner last night.”
“It is nothing. I should be used to spicy foods, but as I grow older, I find I like more bland flavors. It is more my fault than yours.”
“Is that why we eat mostly Western food? Because I like Korean food and I can use chopsticks. I don’t need a fork.”
Wansu sets her glass down onto the coaster next to a beautiful china plate that has blue cherubs chasing each other around the edges. The plate is empty. It’s there for looks. “Are you unhappy with the meals, Hara? You should have said something earlier. Mrs. Ji can make anything you like.” She raises her arm to summon the cook, but I reach out and touch her arm.
“No. Please don’t.” A hot flush of embarrassment spreads from my chest to my cheeks. “Everything she has made has been delicious. Obviously better than mine. I was only saying that if you were making Western food because you thought that was what I preferred, I wanted to tell you that I like Korean food, too, and you don’t have to use forks and spoons as I know how to use chopsticks. Mom—I mean Ellen—has had me using them since I was a baby. I had these ones that had animal heads at the end to hold the sticks together, like a shark and an elephant.”
I shut up then because I am babbling. Wansu lowers her arm. “Ellen took very good care of you.”
“Yes. She loves me.” I groan internally at the way I phrased that—as if I think Wansu doesn’t love me.
Her lips tighten a fraction. “I care as well.”
“I know.” I couldn’t have handled this worse. Having two mothers is a minefield. I don’t know what I was thinking when I got on the plane to come here. Actually, I do. I was running away from the hurt caused by my adoptive dad, his remarriage, his “real” child, and his death. Searching for my biological dad made sense in the moment, but I’d been focused on the discovery, not the aftermath. It’s ironic because I always hated those adoption reunion shows because they only focused on the singular moment of reunification rather than the hard work of sorting through the hurricane of emotions that come with facing the person who abandoned you.
She reaches into her briefcase, which is sitting next to her chair, and pulls out a dark blue folder. It looks like a bound business proposal. One thing about Wansu that I can appreciate is that feelings do not get in the way of business. I sit up in interest. Am I getting a project to work on?
She slides the portfolio across the table. “Here. I put this together for you. I did not teach you how to use chopsticks or aid your studies. I attended not one softball game or one doctor visit. We cannot go back in time and change those things, but I can provide for your future.”
How intriguing. I open the proposal eagerly, but instead of a business plan there’s a glossy photo paper-clipped to a sheet of paper that looks like a résumé. In the photo, a young man wearing a blue suit and sporting a red-striped tie leans against a granite wall. His black hair is swept back away from his forehead and he has large, double-lidded eyes that look surgically enhanced and a high nose bridge. He’s conventionally attractive in the way that social media influencers are attractive—nice to look at but without an ounce of the charisma Yujun has.
Kim Seonpyung is twenty-seven; “international age” is added in parentheses. He attended Korea University and graduated in the top 1 percent. He comes from the Andong clan, which is in a North Gyoengsang province. I have no idea where that is or what that means, but there’s another helpful parenthetical that says the Andong clan dates back to the Joseon dynasty, with three royals in the lineage. I wrinkle my nose. Is that . . . Bomi’s handwriting? Nice of her to give me a warning. She’s supposed to be on my side.
Kim Seonpyung, Soon-ie to his friends, Bomi unhelpfully notes, is a lawyer and works at the best firm in Seoul, Kim & Kang, in the contracts division. He plays the cello and guitar, and his blood type is AB, which is a really good match for my blood type, B. How does Bomi know my blood type? Did Ellen include that tidbit in the monthly reports she sent to Wansu behind my back for thirteen years?
I close the folder and look toward Wansu with useless hope. “Are you hiring someone for the marketing division? Because I don’t know that a contract lawyer would be a good fit.”
