Seoulmates (Seoul 2)

Now that she says it, I do. “I thought you made that up.”

“No. It was the truth. I swear on my mother’s grave. And Wansu’s ex-partner—”

“Lee Jonghyung.”

“Yes, him. Lee would’ve loved you, too, if he’d known about you. His first response when he found out he had a child was to request to meet you. So listen to me. You’re lovable. Don’t tie yourself to the first person who says those words because you think he’s the only one who will ever love you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I wake up to a text from Yujun that he’s going down to Busan for the day.

YUJUN: I’ll be back for dinner.

Only dinnertime arrives and it is only Wansu.

“No Yujun?” I take my seat. There are forks and spoons on the table.

“He’s negotiating a new contract with our shipping partners now that we have the new international business. It is likely we will not see much of him for the next few days.” She pops a spear of asparagus in her mouth, but the cover of food doesn’t hide her smugness. I was surprised she remained silent when we didn’t return from the pool party until the next morning, but she was playing the long game. Her belief is that distance and time will break us apart more effectively than her constant parental disapproval.

If I didn’t know better, if it wouldn’t have been too big a coincidence and too hard to have pulled off, I would blame the river park incident on her. Ellen is in on this with her, and the thought of these two women conspiring behind my back to direct my life in a certain way makes me want to scream. I clench the metal handle of the fork so tight that it leaves marks.

I don’t eat and Wansu doesn’t comment. After dinner, she goes upstairs and I pace in my room, waiting for Yujun to return home. I fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the night to see that I missed three messages.

YUJUN: Sorry

YUJUN: Don’t wait

YUJUN: Love you

Uncaring what Wansu might say, I run down to his room, only to find it vacant and the bed untouched. He must be at his apartment. I drag both hands down my face in frustration and loneliness. Sleep does not come again that night.

* * *

• • •

“YOU DON’T LOOK good,” Yang Ilhwa observes as she hands me my paper boat of food.

“I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. It’s a hungry face.” I skipped out on the morning kale smoothie and went straight to the office hoping to meet Yujun there.

Coffee, I’d asked in a text as I rode up the elevator to the fourteenth floor.

Sorry sorry sorry am still in Busan cant talk luv u was his response.

“You should always eat. Eat is good,” Yang Ilhwa orders. “You hungry and do no good.”

She’s not wrong. I don’t think I’ve had a decent meal since the park. That encounter has really messed me up. That and Ellen’s accusation that I’ve latched onto Yujun because I believe he’s the only one who loves me. First of all, how could anyone look at that man and think I was settling? A woman at the airport crashed into a sign because she couldn’t stop staring at him. Second, even if he wasn’t gorgeous, he’d have a line of people waiting to sit at his table because he’s so fun and kind and decent. I’m punching above my weight class with Yujun.

I’m not hitching my wagon to him because he’s the only one who has said he loves me. I love Yujun because he’s a good listener, because he’s funny, because he’s kind, because his dimples are two bottomless wells of happiness, because he’s fucking good in bed and he looks like a god. I don’t know why he loves me, but it cannot be a surprise as to why I love him. I can’t believe this is even questioned by Ellen.

I’m not even sad. I’m angry. Give me a little credit here.

I eat two bites of my lunch, but even that leaves my stomach upset. I rub a hand across my face. I need a break from life. I need to do something mindless and entertaining.

“Son-nim, irioseyo!” calls Yang Ilhwa. Customer, come here. She motions for me to her side.

I crumple the uneaten food inside the paper tray and stuff the mess in my purse and then jog across the street. “Yes?”

She hands me a fizzy milky yogurt drink. Usually she charges the equivalent of two dollars for this can. “Free,” she says. “Very refreshing. Then, after work, you go to noraebang and sing. Lets out lots of bunno. Anger.” She pats her chest.

A noraebang. God, what a good idea. A private soundproofed room where I can scream my head off and no one will know? “That’s a perfect idea, Imo-nim.”