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Spring in Seoul is one of my favorite times of the year as new buds appear on trees and the city’s many parks grow lush with greenery and flowers. A street vendor offers me a strawberry as I wait for the bus, and I purchase a basket of them, placing them snug at the bottom of my reusable shopping bag. When the bus arrives, it’s only half full, and I take a seat by the window, sliding it open to feel the breeze.
It’s been a little over two months since the scandal, with my father’s PR team working around the clock to clear his name. Immediately following the news report, his team had released a statement that the woman in the photograph was his assistant, working after hours with him on his campaign. All of whicharetrue facts, even if key details were left out. He’d held a press conference the next day, answering reporters’ questions, with my mother beside him,her presencedoing more for his image than any statement. If Seo Min Hee, style icon, entrepreneur, and “Woman of the Year,” supports her husband, then clearly the news report was blown out of proportion.
Luckily,Ididn’t have to participate, as I was somewhere over the Pacific at the time. Though, since then, I’ve had to appear in a few public family outings, including today’s luncheon.
When I get off at my stop in Cheongdam, the road is lined with pink-hued cherry blossom trees, and I pause on my way tothe restaurant to take a photo of myself beneath one, posting it to my SNS with a cherry blossom emoji as a caption.
My parents are already seated when I arrive at the sprawling Parisian-style restaurant located on the ground floor of the Sowon Hotel. I can already tell from their tense postures that they haven’t spoken a word to each other beyond an initial greeting. After bowing to them, one of the waitstaff pulls a chair back from the table for me.
“Ah, Sori-yah,” my father begins, as I take my seat. In his late fifties, my father is a handsome man, fit, with black hair streaked with respectable silver. Leaning across the table, he places his hand on top of mine. Behind us, I hear the rapid clicks of a camera shutter. He lifts his hand and the clicking sounds stop. “You look well. It’s so rare that I get to see you.”
“You saw her just the other day at the golf course,” my mother says, picking up her champagne glass, “or did you not notice with all those politicians’ wives fawning over you?”
Ah, that didn’t take very long. I wish I had my own champagne glass, but I settle for water.
My mother is in her late forties, beautiful and refined, wearing a Celine suit, her lips a slash of red. Where many women of her wealth and status get plastic surgery, my mother has never made that choice. She has lines on her face, and she wears them with elegance.
“Sori-eomma,” my father chides. “I only meant that I miss her. Sori is always so busy.”
The waiter returns and my father orders from the set menu without asking our opinions.
“Sori shouldn’t spend her time on your political campaign anyway,” my mother says. “She must continue to train if she wants to debut this year. I have something planned for her in particular.”
My heart drops into my stomach. I haven’t told her yet that I don’t want to debut. Coming off my father’s scandal, it would feel like another betrayal, except worse, because I at least don’t make a habit of disappointing her.
“Train?” my father scoffs. “She should be spending her time in a more productive manner. Idols have no respect.”
“I was an idol.” My mother sips her champagne.
Seo Min Hee was a first-generation idol, along with Lee Hyori from Fin.K.L. and Eugene from S.E.S. She was at the height of her career when she met my father and they started dating. After she became pregnant with me, they married and she retired from that side of the industry. She’s never said it aloud, but sometimes I wonder if the reason she wantsmeto become an idol is becauseherdream was cut short.
“Sori-yah,” my father says, as if my mother had never spoken, “I forgot to tell you, but I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
The guilt in my stomach turns to dread. Since graduation, my father has been setting me up on blind dates with the sons of his influential friends, with the hope that I would date and eventually marry one of them. The frequency at which these dates occurred had slowed after the scandal. I was hoping they’d ended altogether. I look to my mother for help, but she’s sifting through her salad for a crouton.
“His name is Baek Haneul. His mother owns restaurants in Seoul, as well as Daegu and Ulsan. I’ll have Secretary Lee schedule a time for you to meet him.”
“Sori will meet him,” my mother interjects, “but only if she has time between her dance lessons.”
Sometimes I feel like I’m the battlefield upon which my parents are fighting.
“Yes, Abeoji.”
The food arrives, but I’ve lost my appetite. Having already discussed all the important matters, we spend the meal mostly in silence, with an occasional comment on the quality of the food.
As the meal winds down, my father clears his throat. “There’s talk that Joah is having financial difficulties. I warned you not to get too ambitious. You might lose the company.”
I look up at my mother from where I’d been poking my parfait. “Is that true?”
This is the first time I’ve heard that the company has been facing any problems. Last I heard, Joah was on the upward path, having acquired Dream Music, another entertainment company, as well as finalized the paperwork to renovate a new building for Joah’s headquarters. Joah’s success is why my mother is receiving a Trailblazer Award at this year’s EBC Awards, one of the most prestigious in our industry.
“You shouldn’t listen to rumors, Sori-abeoji,” my mother scolds lightly. “And it’s not true.”
I want to ask her more questions, but I won’t, not in front of my father. I might be the battlefield on which my parents fight, but I refuse to give them weapons to wield against each other.
My father pays, and together we walk out from the restaurant to the lobby of the hotel, our heels click-clacking against themarbled tiles. It’s started to rain while we’ve been indoors, and the hotel attendants are quick to open large, dark umbrellas, holding them above our heads as the cars pull up to the curb. First Secretary Lee drives up in my father’s expensive import. I bow with my mother as he slides into the back seat. Then I bow to my mother before she leaves in her own sleek vehicle.
The hotel attendant signals for one of the luxury cabs waiting in a line for guests, but I shake my head.
