“You’re missing one.” I point to the empty space where the fourth button from the top used to be. Only a stub of threads remains.
He clasps my finger and kisses the tip of it. “I have more at home.”
“Shirts or buttons?”
“Shirts with buttons.”
He tucks my hand into his and leads me down to his office. He doesn’t have a big office like Wansu’s even though he’s part of management. His space is much like Bujang-nim’s, where a wide desk is positioned perpendicular to smaller ones. It’s rather messy. There are papers in disordered piles. A cup of old coffee rests on the edge. One good nudge and it will fall onto the floor. He swipes it up and tosses it in the trash.
“I have a system,” he says and there’s a hint of pink on his cheekbones, as if he’s a little embarrassed that his workspace isn’t picture perfect, but I like it. It humanizes him.
“Sure you do,” I tease.
He cocks his head. “I don’t know if you are agreeing or disagreeing. Your tone says you don’t believe me.”
Yujun’s nearly accentless English makes me forget that he is not a native English speaker and it makes me wish I spoke better Korean so when we teased each other, there was complete understanding.
“I was teasing you so I was saying that I don’t really believe you but in a joking way. Who are these two?” I point to a photo of two adorable children sitting on swings. Their hands are clasped and their windblown cheeks look like peaches.
“Nephew and niece,” he says proudly.
My eyes grow huge. “You have a sibling?”
“Ani. Ani. No. Cousin. My father’s sister’s children’s children.”
“Ah, okay.” My heart resettles in my chest.
“I am an only child like you. I’ll introduce you to them. We can go to PIM. It’s a kid’s café on the Han River. We’ll take insaeng shot.”
“Life photos?”
He beams. “You have learned more words. I’m proud of you. Insaeng does mean ‘life’ but in this case it is ‘shot of life’ or ‘best shot of my life.’ There’s a ball pit that overlooks the Han but the balls are all translucent so they look more like bubbles. It’s very Instagram-worthy.”
“Am I allowed in that?”
“With children. I borrow Choi Juwon’s children all the time for things that I enjoy doing but I am too old to do, such as go on rides at Everland or play laser tag at Lotte.”
“It’s a date.” We smile at each other in harmony until my stomach growls.
“You did not have dinner?” He checks the time. “It is so late. We should eat. Shall I order something? Or do you want to go out?”
“Let’s order. I’m too tired to sit at a restaurant.” I smother a huge yawn. A wry grin quirks up the corner of my mouth. “I am usually not this physically active.”
Yujun coughs into his shoulder, hiding a bit of smugness. “What do you want?”
“Anything. I don’t want to think. Surprise me.”
I sit down in his chair. He perches a hip on his desk and lifts my feet into his lap. I let my eyes flutter shut as he taps away on his phone.
“Tell me about the food truck. Please,” he adds.
With my eyes still closed, I answer. “Sangki first took me there about a week or two after you left. The food isn’t the greatest. The fried pork-cheese balls are the highlight, but the yachae twigim can be soggy and undercooked. The corn cups have too much sauce in them and the corn is sometimes dry. I think she should serve a cold dessert in the summer.”
“And hotteok in the winter. There are never enough hotteok sellers in the winter.”
“I’ll tell her. Anyway, the food reminds me of Iowa. Corn, cheese, pork. I started going there regularly, sometimes two or three times a week. She’d always call me son-nim and I’d call her Imo-nim. One day she joked she would teach me how to cook.”
“And so yesterday you decided you had to learn immediately?”
“No. Yesterday when I went there for lunch, she was sick. I helped her out and then left my number for her. She called me this morning”—I yawn again—“and said she needed my help. She was half passed out when I arrived. A lot of the food was already prepared and it would’ve gone to waste, so I loaded her truck up and drove it to Yongsan. Jules came and helped me. You know the rest.”
“You’re something else, Hara.”
The admiration in his voice fills me with warmth.
“I’m tired.”
“Did you drive the truck back?”
“Yes. She met me at the door and said she’d been to the doctor and had an IV and that she should be better tomorrow, but”—I yawn yet again—“who knows.”
“It’s late. I’m taking you to my place.”
“Wansu won’t be happy.” But I don’t protest when he pulls me to my feet.