“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.”
“No. Kim Seonpyung is very good catch. An emchina. A young man that all mothers hope to have as a son-in-law. You could meet him this weekend. Tomorrow it will be beautiful. I believe the weatherman said in the seventies with very little air pollution.”
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip in frustration. I’m fully aware she does not want me dating Yujun, but setting me up with some random guy I’ve never met seems too much.
“No disrespect, but if you like him, then you should da—” I cut myself off before I say something really callous. Her husband is upstairs in this house in his makeshift hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and machines that are keeping him alive. I rein in my temper and try again. “I’m not interested. I know you don’t approve of Yujun’s and my relationship, but it exists. I’m not going to date anyone else.”
Wansu’s face hardens. “You and Yujun cannot be together. The sooner you accept this truth, the sooner you both will be happier.”
Maybe I should’ve poisoned her last night. People say near-death experiences can soften hearts. “If you wanted the Nation’s Son-in-Law, Ahn Sangki is right there.”
Wansu’s eyebrows arch. “Ahn Sangki will not marry you.”
My back bristles. Does she think I’m not good enough for him?
“And not because of what you are thinking. It is well-known that Ahn Sangki prefers men.”
My jaw drops. Sangki never came out to me, but he didn’t have to. It was easy enough for me to guess where his affections lie because he looks at Yujun the same way I look at Yujun. “How did you know? Does Yujun know?”
“Everyone knows, Hara, including Yujun. How could he not? Those two are close as brothers.”
Does he also know that Sangki is in love with him?
“Ahn Sangki is a very nice young man, but he will not be anyone’s son-in-law. I do not recommend that you date any other celebrity either. They are not known for their fidelity or their long-lasting relationships. If, after meeting with Kim Seonpyung, you find that he is not a good match for you, there are others. In fact, I can provide you with several candidates. Text me what you would like for dinner. I can provide you with a list of restaurants that would be suitable for first dates.” She rises from the table, hooks her briefcase with her hand, and strides out of the dining room toward the front door.
I push the half-drunk smoothie to the side and pick up my phone to text Bomi, who has some answering to do.
ME: Traitor!
BOMI: She gave you the dating profiles?
ME: You did more than one?
BOMI: Ten. I did ten of them. I wanted to tell you but I knew you would be mad
ME: Yes! I am mad. You could’ve at least warned me
BOMI: I was going to at the food truck but you were already . . . Sorry.
She sends me an apple emoji. I drop the phone to the table and shake my fist at the screen. An apology is not cutting it. A horrifying thought occurs to me. If Wansu is sending me dating profiles, she must be doing the same to Yujun. I hadn’t even thought that Yujun might be cheating on me. He calls me every night. I’ve watched him fall asleep on the phone. During the day he attends business meetings. At least . . . I think he does. Doubt creeps into my thoughts like black smoke.