“Are you going to say you don’t watch it either, Bong? Because one of you is lying. Half the metro watches it.”
“I never said I didn’t watch it,” Bong replies.
“You didn’t say you did.”
In lower tones, Soyou says to Chaeyoung, “She’s suggested more ideas than she’s done work.”
“At least Bujang-nim was happy,” Chaeyoung replies. She fidgets with her diamond necklace.
“In my next life, I want to be a chaebol. Not related to one. Not married to one, but I want to be . . . Suh Minjung.”
“The Amore Pacific heir? If you’re wishing for better in your next life, why not wish for Jun Jihyun? Beauty and money.”
“Also married to money.”
“Isn’t that always the case? Money marrying money?” I interject and then hiccup.
Two heads turn toward me. I squint and count again. Maybe it’s three heads, or is Soyou swaying? They’re looking at me oddly. Something’s wrong here and it’s not my blurred vision. Something that I can’t quite put my—oh my fucking god. They’re speaking in Korean and I’m understanding them. I jerk upright and knock my glass over onto Bong’s lap. He curses and pushes my hands away as I try to dab his shirt with my napkin.
“She’s hopeless,” Soyou declares.
“I can hear you.” The entire table stops talking, and maybe that should’ve been my cue to shut up, but I’ve had too much booze and too little food to catch the hint. “I can hear you. No. That’s wrong.” I shake my head until the right word falls to my tongue. “I can understand you.” A grin stretches across my face. “I can understand what you’re saying.” I point to Yoo. “You were talking about Bong’s lack of basketball skills.” My finger moves left. “And you, Kim Soomin-nim, you are a fan of the show Penthouse. And you”—my finger stops at Soyou—“say I’m hopeless.”
Soyou knocks my finger away. “It’s rude to point.”
I fold my finger inside my fist. “Sorry.” But I’m too pleased with my language breakthrough to care about Soyou’s scolds. Half the team looks mildly horrified as they try to recall all the snide remarks they must’ve said about me, believing I didn’t understand them. I hadn’t before, but I might now. I gaze with bright, challenging eyes at everyone at the table, and most of them drop their gazes to their laps. Oh, it feels good to be a dragon, clawing my way up the mountain. I pop a piece of hanwoo into my mouth and chew, savoring both the meat and the achievement.
The conversation at the table falls into a lull, which may have bothered me some other night, but not this one. Tonight, nothing is making me unhappy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Despite a massive hangover, I take my newfound confidence to work with me the next day, and as soon as Bujang-nim appears, at precisely nine, I pounce and demand more work. I make my request in Korean and enjoy the mild shock that fills his face. He replies in Korean, but whatever magic took place last night has dissipated. When I don’t respond, his shock morphs into resignation. A week ago, I would’ve slunk away to my desk in embarrassment, but I’m not moving until he gives me work. After what seems like an endless standoff, during which all of my department and half of the sales department next to us watches, he gives in. He types out three emails with attachments and shoos me away. I skip back to my desk.
While I’m happy, the rest of my coworkers appear tense. There’s very little chatter. No one is grouping together at the coffee station making their insta-coffees or downing a tiny bottle of ginseng. Even Chaeyoung and Soyou aren’t making their usual bathroom bonding runs. It’s as if my understanding of Korean has actually driven a wedge between us instead of pulling us closer together.
It’s a process, I tell myself. Rome wasn’t built in a day, et cetera, et cetera. Keep your chin up. I recite a half dozen clichéd platitudes and get to work.
Around midmorning, Sangki texts me.
SANGKI: Now that Yujun is back I never see you it’s like he is more important than me
ME: Never
SANGKI: He can’t continue to monopolize your time like this you’re eating with me tonight
ME: He texted you and said he feels bad about abandoning me and begged you to take me out
SANGKI: Are you reading his phone messages right now?
ME: No but thank you for confirming my guess
SANGKI: . . .
ME:
ME: You looked good on tv last night
SANGKI: Did you watch? I think my face looked puffy. No more fried food. Let’s eat at this vegan place that serves temple food
ME: You did not look puffy faced. I did watch and you sounded amazing and were very funny
SANGKI: I am very funny and I do sound amazing
SANGKI: temple food?
ME: Yes. Who would turn down the right to have dinner with someone very funny who sings like an angel and was once in the running for world’s most handsome man
SANGKI: I got beat out by the British actor Tom
ME: No one in his right mind thinks Tom is more attractive than you
SANGKI: You’re so right. Results were rigged
ME: Biased against Asians
SANGKI: The poll had David Kim in the top ten and we know anything that includes him is sus
ME: Exactly. Let me go downvote his image
SANGKI: Better not. If they catch you, I’ll be accused of sending haters after him
ME: Damn and I just finished making ten different accounts
SANGKI: See you tonight
ME: Can I bring Bomi?
SANGKI: A threesome? How kinky. Yes
ME: You’re paying
SANGKI: I see how it is
ME:
I tuck my phone away, and when I look up, I see Chaeyoung staring at me.
“I made plans to eat dinner with Ahn Sangki. He’s taking me to a special place that serves temple food. Very exclusive.”
“Sawon in Insadong?” Her eyes widen with envy.
I nod even though I have no idea where we are going. She mutters, “Jonna jogyetda,” under her breath, which I presume is something like “fucking lucky.” I make the thumbs-up sign to make it seem like I know what she’s talking about. Envy turns to fear and she doesn’t even look in my direction for the rest of the day.