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Authors: Janice Y. K. Lee
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wanted to be sure. The kids were excited to see Mercy, and she took them, chattering, telling her all that they had done, down the hallway and into the elevator.
Margaret went back to her room and got into the shower. She was meeting Clarke in the lobby at five, and they were going to the company headquarters to meet some people and then out to dinner.
In the car, Clarke ruffled her hair and asked about her day.
“It was good,” she said. “Where we were was really charming. And I think we’re going to meet my great-uncle tomorrow. He had his son e-mail me back with a time and a restaurant. Very sweet e-mail. We’re going to have lunch.”
“Great,” he said. “I don’t think I can make it. Is that okay?”
They sat for a moment, quiet, happy, hands intertwined in the backseat. She remembered this moment later as one of the last times she felt totally content.
At the office, she met some people, who all bowed, so she bowed back, feeling her 75 percent Americanness very strongly, and when she went to the bathroom, she saw a strange glass cabinet full of toothbrushes.
“What’s that for?” she asked one of the ladies in the office.
“Koreans like to eat Korean food,” the woman replied, giggling and covering her mouth, “but it smell very strong. We always brush teeth after lunch. It is an ultraviolet light cleanser, so it sterilizes all the toothbrushes so it is hygienic.”
“Oh, wow,” Margaret said. She was six inches taller than any other woman in the room and felt incredibly large.
They went out to a barbecue restaurant and ate
bulgogi
and drank beer and came back to the hotel with smoky hair and pungent clothes, and when she peeked into the kids’ room, they were watching a movie, bathed and pj’d, and they swore they had brushed and flossed. Mercy winked at Margaret, and she softened. She was charming, in an odd sort of way. She felt sorry for Mercy, although she didn’t know why.
The next day, she met her extended family for lunch with the kids, having given Mercy the day off again. It was at a barbecue restaurant (the amount of meat you consumed in Korea was extraordinary) with an outdoor garden and ponds, and they all took a photograph in front of the fake waterfall. It reminded her of old-fashioned family portraits as they seated her great-uncle and his wife in the front center and radiated out, agewise. There was much exclaiming and smiling and broken English and broken Korean. They were about twenty in all, many second and third cousins, who had brought their children, who played with Daisyand Philip and G in the outdoor garden. Margaret showed them pictures of her father and his parents, and they showed her old photo albums of their side of the family. The relatives showered them with presents—a woman’s silk scarf for her, hair accessories for Daisy, a tie for Clarke and toys for the boys—and she was mortified that she hadn’t thought to bring anything. She snuck off to pay the bill, and when the waiter presented her with the credit card slip, there were stricken faces all around.
“I have to pay!” she said. “So many presents! I no give anything!” resorting to pidgin English for some embarrassing reason.
“You our guest,” they said. “You come to our country.”
She signed the slip, embarrassed, and finally they smiled.
She looked at a cousin and tried to see her father’s face. He had died too early, her father, and she could not remember much about the way he looked anymore. She wanted to feel a connection to this family of hers but knew that if she saw some of them in the hotel lobby the next day, she would be hard-pressed to recognize them.
At the end of the meal, she brought the kids back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Mercy was there, and she ordered another movie for them.
“We’ll go somewhere fun for dinner,” she said. “Daddy has to go to a work dinner, so it’ll be you guys, me, and Mercy.”
And then. And then.
She went to pick
Margaret went back to her room and got into the shower. She was meeting Clarke in the lobby at five, and they were going to the company headquarters to meet some people and then out to dinner.
In the car, Clarke ruffled her hair and asked about her day.
“It was good,” she said. “Where we were was really charming. And I think we’re going to meet my great-uncle tomorrow. He had his son e-mail me back with a time and a restaurant. Very sweet e-mail. We’re going to have lunch.”
“Great,” he said. “I don’t think I can make it. Is that okay?”
They sat for a moment, quiet, happy, hands intertwined in the backseat. She remembered this moment later as one of the last times she felt totally content.
At the office, she met some people, who all bowed, so she bowed back, feeling her 75 percent Americanness very strongly, and when she went to the bathroom, she saw a strange glass cabinet full of toothbrushes.
“What’s that for?” she asked one of the ladies in the office.
“Koreans like to eat Korean food,” the woman replied, giggling and covering her mouth, “but it smell very strong. We always brush teeth after lunch. It is an ultraviolet light cleanser, so it sterilizes all the toothbrushes so it is hygienic.”
“Oh, wow,” Margaret said. She was six inches taller than any other woman in the room and felt incredibly large.
They went out to a barbecue restaurant and ate
bulgogi
and drank beer and came back to the hotel with smoky hair and pungent clothes, and when she peeked into the kids’ room, they were watching a movie, bathed and pj’d, and they swore they had brushed and flossed. Mercy winked at Margaret, and she softened. She was charming, in an odd sort of way. She felt sorry for Mercy, although she didn’t know why.
The next day, she met her extended family for lunch with the kids, having given Mercy the day off again. It was at a barbecue restaurant (the amount of meat you consumed in Korea was extraordinary) with an outdoor garden and ponds, and they all took a photograph in front of the fake waterfall. It reminded her of old-fashioned family portraits as they seated her great-uncle and his wife in the front center and radiated out, agewise. There was much exclaiming and smiling and broken English and broken Korean. They were about twenty in all, many second and third cousins, who had brought their children, who played with Daisyand Philip and G in the outdoor garden. Margaret showed them pictures of her father and his parents, and they showed her old photo albums of their side of the family. The relatives showered them with presents—a woman’s silk scarf for her, hair accessories for Daisy, a tie for Clarke and toys for the boys—and she was mortified that she hadn’t thought to bring anything. She snuck off to pay the bill, and when the waiter presented her with the credit card slip, there were stricken faces all around.
“I have to pay!” she said. “So many presents! I no give anything!” resorting to pidgin English for some embarrassing reason.
“You our guest,” they said. “You come to our country.”
She signed the slip, embarrassed, and finally they smiled.
She looked at a cousin and tried to see her father’s face. He had died too early, her father, and she could not remember much about the way he looked anymore. She wanted to feel a connection to this family of hers but knew that if she saw some of them in the hotel lobby the next day, she would be hard-pressed to recognize them.
At the end of the meal, she brought the kids back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Mercy was there, and she ordered another movie for them.
“We’ll go somewhere fun for dinner,” she said. “Daddy has to go to a work dinner, so it’ll be you guys, me, and Mercy.”
And then. And then.
She went to pick
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