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“I know.”
“You sound like Sangki.”
“We’re both talented in our own ways. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Sangki calls from the other side of Yujun.
“The moms are coming.” Yujun points to two women walking toward us. We straighten up. All of us are over twenty-five, with Sangki and Yujun kissing thirty, but when the parents are around, we’re children again.
The two women are different in almost every way, from their appearance to their native language. Ellen wears a long colorful cotton skirt with open-toed sandals and a bright green blouse. She’s a good four inches shorter and rounder than Wansu, but her colorful presence, Western features, and light brown hair make her stand out. Wansu is tall and slender and hardly ever wears anything that isn’t neutral monochrome. Tonight is no different. She’s clad in dark gray pants and a matching knit top. Her hair is cut in her trademark severe bob, and due to good genetics and lots of sunscreen, she doesn’t look much past the age of thirty.
I once told Yujun that Ellen and Wansu are like potatoes and rice. Ellen’s and Pat’s families grew up eating potatoes. Wansu and Jonghyung had rice at nearly every meal. No home can be without one of those staples. They ward off malnutrition, have ended famines, provide comfort. You need one or the other in your life, and having both is a blessing. And Yujun and I are blessed.
Ellen and Wansu have become close friends despite the cultural divide. They have more in common than they have differences. Both lost their husbands. Both have raised children that they did not give birth to. Both worry about us endlessly. Both love melodramas. Every night after dinner, they watch one together. It’s how Ellen is learning Korean.
My own Korean is better. My accent is terrible and sometimes native Koreans have a hard time understanding me. I have to speak English a few times because my Korean pronunciation is awful, but I’m trying. The walk around the earth is slow, but progress is being made. I might reach a new continent sometime within the next decade.
Yujun is always willing to speak English with me. All of my friends do, but I love hearing them speak Korean. It’s a beautiful language and Yujun never sounds sexier than when he’s speaking his native tongue. There’s something musical and rhythmic in the way that he speaks the language. Oftentimes, when we talk, he’ll speak Korean and I’ll speak English. It’s weird but it works.
“You had a good crowd tonight.” Ellen claps her hands together in delight. “Every time we walked by you had a long line. I heard people say it was the best food at the festival and that they were so sad you would be closed until after Seollal.” She turns to Wansu. “Did I say that right?”
Wansu nods with silent approval.
“Isn’t my Korean getting so good? Wansu says I sound like a native.”
She doesn’t, but we all bob our heads in agreement.
“I bought these soaps by myself!” She holds up a small clear bag that contains four blocks of soap that look like a slice of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “I even haggled a little. Of course, Wansu helped but I did it mostly myself. I think I could go to a café and order alone, not that I would want to, Wansu, but if I had to, I could, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Wansu agrees.
Ellen preens with pride. “We wanted to come over and say goodbye. We’re headed home now. Don’t stay out too late.” She comes over and gives me a pat on the face and presses a kiss on my head. She does the same to Yujun.
Sangki taps the side of his cheek. Ellen laughs delightedly and gives Sangki a kiss as well.
“Two moms hasn’t turned out all bad,” Sangki murmurs as the moms walk away.
“Obviously two moms are superior,” Jules says.
“I mean, yeah, if that’s all you have, then I guess two moms will do, but in reality two dads are the best,” Sangki counters.
“In what world are two dads better than two moms?” Jules shoots back.
As the two bicker, Yujun tilts his head and smiles at me, his dimples deepening. He’s happy and so am I. I came to Korea to find my family, to figure out where I belonged, and what I learned was that family has never been about blood. Family is about the people you love and the people who love you back, and in that circle, you are never an outsider, a person with no name. You always belong.
