Authors: Katie M. Stout
“And this is Grace?” Ms. Bae directs her smile at me.
I drop in a bow. “Thank you so much for allowing me into your home.”
“You’re welcome,” she says in perfect English.
“Mom, Grace is the best roommate ever,” Sophie says. “I even think Jason likes her.”
Jason’s face wipes of all expression, though the slight reddening of his cheeks betrays him. Ms. Bae just laughs.
“She must be a wonderful girl, then.” She waves me forward. “Come. Sit.”
I drop down onto the couch and find it only slightly more comfortable than I originally thought.
“Sophie has told me this is your first trip to Seoul,” Ms. Bae says. “What do you think?”
“It’s great!” I respond, my nerves infusing a little too much excitement into my voice. “I mean, I’ve only been here for an hour or so, but everything seems awesome!”
Okay, since when does my voice sound like a chipmunk? Chill out, Grace. It’s not like you’re meeting your future mother-in-law, or something.
“I’m going to take her to the market later,” Sophie says. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Ms. Bae responds with proper enthusiasm, something my mother would never do. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”
We spend the next hour talking with Sophie and Jason’s mom, but it never veers into awkward territory. She asks about Tennessee and my college plans, and besides the polite questions about family, she doesn’t pry—which I appreciate.
Before dinner, Sophie shows me to her room, where I’ll be sleeping for the next month. With fuchsia-colored paint and giant posters of her favorite actors and cartoon characters plastered all over the walls, it’s like stepping into the room of a preteen, but it somehow fits her. Her bed, covered in a fuzzy pink blanket over a silky comforter, is big enough for both of us, and I set my suitcase beside her dresser.
We migrate to the kitchen for supper, where I find Ms. Bae has cooked bibimbap, a traditional Korean dish of white rice with lots of saut
é
ed vegetables and a fried egg, mixed with chili paste. Now that I’ve mastered chopsticks, I don’t feel completely inept eating with their mom, but I can’t hide my shock after the first bite, when my mouth feels like it’s on fire.
I suck down a drink of water, and Sophie giggles.
“Spicy?” she asks.
I toss Ms. Bae a glance, not wanting to offend her. “No, it’s great!”
My mouth still burning, I pick up a piece of cabbage with red paste rubbed all over it, a dish that’s always served at school but that I’ve thus far avoided. But one bite and I realize it’s even spicier than the bibimbap.
After draining my water glass, I ask, “What is that?”
Sophie points to the cabbage in question. “Kimchi. Good, no?”
“Uhh … yeah, but it’s
really
spicy.”
Note to self—bibimbap: good. Kimchi: a little too intense for me.
Beside me, Jason snorts a laugh when I swallow hard and discreetly pushes his drink toward me with the back of his hand. I’m caught between glaring at him for laughing and hugging him, but I settle with finishing off his glass, as well.
Once we’ve all finished eating, we turn in early. It feels like we’ve been traveling a long time, although the drive only lasted a few hours. But I couldn’t sleep last night, the argument with my mother replaying over and over in my head. She’s probably complaining to Dad about me right now, sending me evil vibes across the Pacific. I wouldn’t put it past her.
My phone pings with a message, interrupting my depressing thoughts, and I open a picture message from Jane. She’s standing behind Momma and pretending to hang herself. The text below reads,
kill me now. an entire month without school. alone, with our mother. you better be having fun.
I suppress a laugh but allow Jane’s words to sink in. I can’t let myself worry about Momma’s opinions of me or let them weigh me down. I’m in freaking Seoul for the Christmas holidays. It’s time to have fun.
* * *
The next day, Sophie and I lounge around the house in our pajamas. Jason is conspicuously absent, and when I ask about him, Sophie says, “He had to go to the studio today to talk to his manager about the drama. They start shooting in a few days.”
She flips through TV channels, stopping on a celebrity gossip show. Although I can’t understand anything, I can decipher enough to know the candid shots of stars don’t come with flattering commentaries.
A picture of Eden pops onto the screen, and I perk.
“Sophie, what are they talking about?”
She shrugs. “Nothing important.”
The screen flashes to a video of Sophie, me, and the boys in Incheon, that night we went to the underground mall. There I am on Korean TV, my eyes a little panicked but my outfit looking pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.
“Are they trying to figure out what school Jason’s at?” I ask.
“Yeah, but the press has been speculating since August. Seeing him in Incheon might help them narrow it down, though.” She chews on a fingernail. “It’s pretty incredible no one at school has leaked the information.”
“Well, I think the school basically threatened their lives if they told. Nobody wants to get expelled if it’s found out they told somebody.”
“I guess,” she says.
The screen flashes to Eden at one of their concerts, and Sophie scoffs.
“What?” I ask. “What are they saying?”
She rolls her eyes. “They’re talking about how Yoon Jae went to China for the holidays, to stay with his dad in Beijing. They’re trying to make a big deal about it, like the band is having trouble or something. Yoon Jae just wanted to be with his family.”
Despite Sophie brushing off the issue, I have to wonder if the network has a point. I get the feeling there’s some kind of tension among them. Or, at least, between Jason and Yoon Jae.
The front door opens, and Jason enters, bringing a brisk wind with him. I huddle below the pillows on the couch, drawing my knees up to my chest to protect myself from the cold.
He drops down onto the sofa beside me with a sigh and frowns when he notices the TV. “Why are you two watching this trash?” he says.
“Why do you care?” Sophie asks.
“Because all those shows do is lie and make money doing it.” His face twists into a scowl. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”
“Well, if you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else.” Then she adds, “They were talking about you earlier, by the way. Said Eden is having some trouble. Apparently, you guys will be broken up by January.”
She laughs, but the dark expression that passes over Jason’s face keeps me from joining in her amusement. I catch his gaze, and he reassembles a blank look that reveals nothing. But it’s too late because I’ve already seen his anxiety.
“What are your plans for tonight?” he asks, changing the subject. “It’s Saturday night. Shouldn’t you take Grace somewhere fun?”
“Don’t you worry, flower boy,” Sophie says.
I raise my eyebrows. “‘Flower boy’?”
Jason sighs again, leaning his head back against the couch like he’s exhausted, but Sophie shoots me a grin. “It’s a pretty boy,” she says. “Don’t you think our little Jason is just the prettiest lead singer there is?”
He launches a pillow at Sophie’s head, maintaining an expressionless face. She catches it before it slams into her nose, but she just laughs.
“Come on, Grace.” She gets to her feet and stretches. “He’s right. This time. Let’s go get dressed.”
After throwing on as many layers as I can and covering my hair with a pair of crocheted earmuffs Sophie has in her closet, I join her in the living room. Jason still sits on the couch, and he watches me enter. My eyes drop to my feet, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure twisting inside my chest at his attention. We’ve had zero arguments since we arrived—Seoul sits well with him, apparently.
“Where are you going?” he says.
Sophie fluffs her hair in the mirror. “Gwangjang—I want her to try some good authentic food. We’ll walk to the subway station.”
“Are you going with us?” I ask Jason.
But Sophie answers for him. “He can’t be seen in such a public place. Photographers would be following him around all night, and trust me when I tell you that’s not fun.”
My spirits sink, but I tell myself it’s not a big deal. Why do I want to hang out with him, anyway? We’d just have to dodge paparazzi and insane fans—again—and he’d probably complain about how his fans hinder his life the whole time.
I brace myself for the cold as we step outside, but I still shiver at the snap on my fingers, which I stuff into a pair of mittens. Sophie only laughs at my inability to adapt to cold weather.
“You’ll love this place,” she says. “It’s not the trendy hangout place, but it has the best street food in Seoul. And it’s a lot more traditional than some of the newer markets, so you’ll get more of a Korean feel, you know?”
I nod, though I can’t listen. I can’t help wondering what Jason will do while we’re gone and whether or not he wishes he could hang out with us.
When a door slams behind us and feet pound on the wooden stairs, my heart soars in hope. I turn and see Jason trotting down the path toward us, half his face hidden behind a thick scarf, which wraps around his neck multiple times, and hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“It will be dark when you guys come home,” he says. “You shouldn’t walk back from the subway station at night. You need someone to drive you to Gwangjang. I’m coming with you.”
Sophie doesn’t protest Jason’s announcement, though she shoots him a bemused look, then shifts her gaze to me and back to him. My heart skitters, but I keep a straight face instead of squealing like I want to. Which totally freaks me out. Since when do I get excited about hanging out with Jason?
I mean, he can be fun sometimes, and he’s insanely hot—
Okay.
Maybe I have a tiny crush on him.
But it’s not like I’m in love with the guy or anything.
Sophie and I climb into the backseat of the car Young Jo drove to pick us up from the airport, and Jason gets into the driver’s seat. Sophie leans forward and turns on the radio, cranking the volume to an eardrum-shattering decibel. But I’m not complaining.
As Jason drives us down the narrow streets and Sophie belts KPOP at the top of her lungs, I’m swallowed by a surreal feeling, like I’m dreaming. I peer out the window, watching the blur of lights and people. I’m probably overthinking the situation, but I can’t help feeling grateful—for Sophie, for Jason, for them welcoming me into their home. I know Momma would never allow me to bring a friend home, and Dad would tell jokes behind Sophie’s and Jason’s backs about Asian people. Because that’s the kind of guy he is.
Sophie bumps my shoulder with hers. “Sing with me!”
I realize then that American pop music filters through the speakers. Laughing, I join her, throwing as much dramatic emotion into the lyrics as possible. By the time the song ends, we’re gasping for breath and Jason has parked the car.
We all file out, and Jason pays the parking fee. He pulls his scarf up higher so all I can see are his eyes, and he pulls on a slouchy knit hat that covers his ears and most of his hair.
“You look like you’re getting ready to shoot up the place or something,” I say.
He narrows his eyes but says nothing, then falls into step beside me, close enough that our elbows bump every few steps.
This part of town is busier, the streets crowded with couples and groups of friends. Street vendors hawk food to those who pass by, and cars rumble down the street, beeping their horns at pedestrians who don’t mind the crosswalks.
We turn off into a building with a foggy plastic or glass roof that, from the outside, reminds me of a train station. But when we enter, I realize it’s some kind of bazaar. Open shops are built into the walls lining the long hall, and they show gorgeous displays of traditional Korean costumes and expensive fabrics. A musty smell hangs in the air, and voices echo off the metal walls. I linger in front of one of the stalls, running my fingers across a blue silk.
Jason comes to a stop beside me. “Do you like it?”
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe. “All of them are.”
“This market is famous for its textiles. Mostly silk.”
The vendor, a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and a thick black coat wrapped around her plump middle, approaches us with a polite smile. She inclines her head and says, “
Ahn nyeong ha se yo
.”
“Hi.” I bow my head in response.
The woman holds up the fabric to me, and I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I offer, then take in her uncomprehending expression. “
Aniyo
uhh …
kwenchanayo.
”
Jason takes over for me, saying something to the woman in Korean, and she nods. They launch into a conversation, with me listening to the flow of words rushing between them. She smiles at me again, then reaches under her makeshift counter, which is covered in a myriad of fabrics. She pulls out about half a yard of yellow silk embroidered with white flowers and holds it out to me.
“What? Oh, no! I don’t want to buy anything.” I try waving my hands in a gesture I pray translates into my declining the offer.
She says something in Korean and presses the cloth closer to me, her lips falling into a slight frown.
“Take it,” Jason says. “She wants to give it to you.”
Hesitantly, I take the silk from her, the fabric cool and smooth, like water in my hands. I bow again, and because I have no idea what else to say, toss her a quick “thank you.”
I stare down at the fabric now resting in my palms. It’s gorgeous, but what am I going to do with it?
“She said my American girlfriend is beautiful,” Jason says.
“What?”
His eyes crinkle, and I know he’s smiling. “She wanted to know if I was marrying you for an American visa.”
I sputter unintelligibly, my body unable to process coherent thoughts, let alone articulate sentences.
He shrugs, sarcasm dripping from his voice when he continues with, “I told her you were desperate for a Korean visa, so you were only dating me in hopes of getting one.”