Seoulmates (Seoul 2)

“It’s not the money. We both know I could buy ten food trucks and not even notice that my bank balance had dipped. If that’s what you want to do, I know you will be great at it. The real problem here is if the International Marketing Department is so dysfunctional that they drove the CEO’s daughter away, it’s going to result in greater harm to our business if we don’t do something. An investigation will have to be launched.”

I hang my head. “I figured. I don’t want anyone to be fired because they were mean to me. It should only be because they’re terrible at their job or they did something wrong.”

“Agreed.” He starts the car. “Do you want to break it to Eomma or should I?”

“Oh, I want you to do it.”

“Okay.”

I laugh. “But it is my responsibility, so I will tell her.”

Wansu takes it much better than I expected. The hated see-through technology screen of death doesn’t pop up to show me how many food trucks fail within six months of their opening. She doesn’t glare me into submission.

“Do you have projects to be finished?”

“No. None.”

She rolls a fountain pen between her fingers. “Is the department not very busy?”

“It’s busy. There are some good workers there. Bong Hyoseob. Kim Soyou.” I mention her specifically because I’m afraid for the security of her job.

“Will you be going home or do you have plans?”

“I’m going to go to the Majang Meat Market. It’s where Yang Ilwha buys her product.”

“You are serious about this food truck, then?”

“Yes. It might sound like foolishness, but feeding people is really rewarding.”

“I’ll see you at home, then, for dinner.”

In the bathroom on the fourteenth floor, I call Ellen.

“Darling! Aren’t you working?”

“I quit today.”

“Oh my goodness! What did Wansu say? Is she okay?”

I release a confused laugh. “Wansu? What about me?”

“Of course I’m concerned about you, but didn’t you take the job and stay in Korea because if you didn’t Wansu’s company would fall apart? I hope that’s not happening.”

“I told her and she didn’t appear to be worried.”

“Honey, she is not going to admit that the company is going to be a wreck if you quit because that’s not what mothers do.”

“You really like Wansu, don’t you?” I lean against the wood-paneled wall and take a moment for this to sink in.

“I told you! We have a lot in common. By the way, did she let you know I’m coming out to celebrate Christmas with you? Wansu wants me to decorate a tree and make Christmas cookies and a ham and everything. I’m already starting to think about gifts. Do you have any ideas? Not only for Wansu, but her son, too. Text me any thoughts you have. I want to get her things she can’t buy in Korea.”

A woman walks in and arches an inquiring eyebrow in my direction.

“Mom, I have to go. Someone’s here to use the bathroom.”

“Okay! I love you. Bye-bye!”

I give a nod of acknowledgment and slip out of the bathroom. Next stop, seventh floor.

Everyone is at their desks when I arrive. Bujang-nim’s face turns an ugly shade of red, while Soyou grows pale.

“I’m leaving for a new job,” I announce. “You have all been very kind to me”—someone coughs in the distance—“but there are new challenges on the horizon. Soyou, you and I have an appointment to go to.”

“You do?” Chaeyong’s brows crash together. She can’t envision a gathering with just me and her angry friend.

“Yes, don’t we?” I stare challengingly at Soyou who silently retrieves her purse and rises. I start to walk off when she calls me back. My umbrella, the Dior one, is in her hand.

“Here.”

“Thank you.” I take it and gesture for her to walk ahead of me. The eyes of the entire department follow us but I’m used to it. From Soyou’s stiff neck, she’s not.

“Where are we going?” she asks as we wait for the elevator.

“Majang Meat Market.”

“Are you serious?” She examines my unsmiling face.

“As a heart attack.”

By her confused expression, it’s apparent she doesn’t understand the colloquialism. Too bad. I don’t feel like explaining it to her.

We take the subway to the Majang station. The entrance to the market is adorned with a large, plastic, unsmiling bull’s head. Peeking out from behind the cattle is the head of a happy pig. The English phrase “Welecome to Meat Market” with the misspelling sits on top of the original Hangul “Majang Chuksanmul Sijang.” They could’ve used my services.

The main corridor of the meat market is covered in red-domed acrylic with a line of faded translucent yellow tiles marching down the center. The sides of the narrow cement roadway are lined with glass display cases full of beef and pork. There aren’t as many people here as I thought there might be. Motorcycles with coolers strapped on the back speed away, while a flatbed truck rumbles down the road.