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But this isn’t my home, I remind myself, dropping my arm. Not even temporarily for the summer. And that’s not my food. I feel a bit like Goldilocks in this moment, and I know how that story ends. I don’t need a family of bears, or the police for that matter, to be showing up and arresting me for eating their food.
I head back to the foyer and grab my bag. I’ll just have one of the two remaining granola bars I packed. Just as I reach the entryway, the front door opens and someone walks in. A small yelp escapes my mouth just as a much louder scream escapes the older lady’s.
“I’m so sorry,” we both say at the same time.
“You startled me,” in unison.
“You first,” voices perfectly synchronized.
I shut my mouth and point to the older Korean woman.
Her eyes narrow and she tilts her head slightly, examining me. She knows I’m a stranger in her home. She probably has her finger on the emergency call button on her phone right now.
But she shakes her head and quickly replaces her expression with a polite smile.
“You must be Yoo-Jin-ssi. I’m Mrs. Choi. I’ll be here to prepare your meals and help clean up after you. I usually come in the mornings, but when they mentioned you’d be arriving tonight, it occurred to me that you might be hungry when you got here. So I rushed over to make you a snack before bed.”
This house isn’t only the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, but apparently it comes with a Mrs. Choi?
“I am Yoo-Jin,” I say. “But...” But what? That I’m likely not the Yoo-Jin she thinks I am? But how does one explain something you yourself don’t understand?
“Why don’t you go and get washed up and I’ll make you something to eat. You must be so hungry and tired. I’ll have everything prepared and set out on a plate on the island in the kitchen and I’ll leave quietly before you come back downstairs.”
I don’t move.
“Unless you’d prefer to eat in the formal dining room?” she asks.
“NO WAY. Oh, um, I mean, no, the kitchen is fine,” I say. If she’s gonna make food anyways, I might as well not let it go to waste. My very angry empty stomach will be happy.
I want to ask Mrs. Choi to stay. I want to ask her who she thinks I actually am and if she can help me figure out this mess. But she’s already disappeared into the kitchen and the thought of washing the grime of the day off sounds too good right now.
She basically gave me permission to use the restroom, right? I’ll take it. I grab my bag and lug it up the stairs. There are a bunch of closed doors down a hallway and one at the very end that’s open, which leads to a huge bedroom with an attached bathroom. A four-poster bed is in the middle of the space, made up with crisp and clearly high-thread-count white linens, the initialsYJLembroidered along the border of the duvet cover and the pillow shams. I walk through to the bathroom and it’s bigger than my bedroom at home. White plush towels hang from the rods and top-end toiletries line the shower.
I take off my grubby, sweaty clothes and jump in.
What feels like an eternity later, I’m clean and feel more of sound mind and body. I’ve washed off the haze of fatigue and confusion and now I’m hungrier than I was before.
I go back into the bedroom to grab my luggage, but I notice it’s not where I left it. I open the closet door and to my surprise, all my clothes have been put away already. I quickly throw on a clean pair of underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, tie my wet hair in a messy bun, and rush downstairs.
I see Mrs. Choi about to leave, carrying a bunch of garment bags with her.
“Mrs. Choi,” I call out.
She jumps, startled, looking like she’s been caught.
“I’m so, so sorry for the mistake,” she says.
Oh, thank goodness. She realizes it too. Now we can talk. “So am I, truly,” I say. “I didn’t realize...”
“We didn’t realize you were a young lady. They mistakenly bought the wrong type of wardrobe for you. I packed everything up and I’ll contact the company to make sure they have everything rectified and new clothes brought to you as soon as possible. Please leave any dishes in the sink and I’ll be by in the morning to wash them and make you breakfast.”
She bows and rushes out the door.
“Wait,” I call out. But she’s already gone.
I stand, yet again, in the foyer, stunned.
I walk into the kitchen to find a myriad of bowls laid out on the island with a glass of water, a cup of what looks like tea, and utensils all perfectly set.
