High Hopes Read online

  Oh geez. I tugged on her arm, trying to speed her up, but she shrugged off my hand. The hostess had reached our table, and she looked back at us impatiently. It didn’t make any difference. Halmuni was on a mission, and she refused to be hurried up.

  By the time we sat down, I could feel everyone in the restaurant staring at me. I scooted right next to the window, trying to hide.

  The hostess gave us our menus and, without another word, headed back toward her phone.

  I scanned for the lowest-priced items, my usual job when dining with Halmuni. I always tried to think of her as frugal or careful, but the truth is, she didn’t like to spend money. Out of all of the English words she knew, Halmuni could probably pronounce “clearance” the best. Even on a menu, I found myself looking for those red sales tags.

  Halmuni placed her bony hand on mine. Her deep-set eyes grew misty. “Get whatever you want today.”

  “Anything?” I couldn’t remember ever hearing Halmuni utter those words. “You sure?”

  Halmuni honked her nose with the cloth napkin loud enough to make the hostess turn around. “Soon you be famous lawyer. You pay me back—with interest.”

  Our server, a Korean boy around my age, approached our table, notepad in hand. He had short, spiky hair and two cute dimples. But who was counting?

  “Hi, there.” He cast a bright smile at Halmuni, then at me. “My name is Mark. I’ll be taking care of you.” When he smiled, his dimples deepened. If possible, they got even cuter. “What would you ladies like to start?”

  “A congratulations!” Halmuni lifted her menu. “Earlier girl so rude.”

  “Halmuni,” I whispered. I looked up at Mark, trying to send a mental apology. When I saw him smiling at me, I looked down at the table and busied myself readjusting the perfectly well aligned silverware.

  “She just got into Columbia.”

  Mark rocked back on his heels and let out a low whistle. “Wow. Congratulations indeed.”

  “Thank you.” Bravely, I glanced up at him. “We’ll just have water.”

  “Right away.”

  As he walked off, Halmuni’s eyes shamelessly followed him. “Maybe he go to Columbia, too. Be boyfriend.”

  “Halmuni. Please.”

  “Studies number one. But maybe you find nice Korean boy.”

  “I won’t need a boyfriend in New York.”

  “Lots of Koreans in New York.”

  I lifted my menu to hide my face. “Anyway, I’ll come back to California for law school. Continuing to work for B.B. will help me get ahead.”

  Halmuni scoffed.

  Remembering B.B., I pulled out my phone. “Excuse me, Halmuni. I don’t mean to be rude at dinner, but I promised to let him know.”

  “Good girl.”

  I typed a quick message: I’m in!

  “B.B. like your mother,” continued Halmuni, “but with women. He only like American girls with blonde hair.” One of Halmuni’s favorite pastimes was impugning B.B. Chu’s love life. I usually only half-listened.

  Almost instantly, my phone beeped at me. It was as if B.B. had been waiting with his phone in hand. Happy emoticons danced across the screen.

  “He too old be bachelor,” Halmuni continued. “What if he choke one day and no one there? He die alone.”

  It was pointless telling Halmuni you could still choke with someone else in the room—and also, there were many other reasons to fall in love besides having someone ready to save you if you got a prawn stuck in your throat.

  “You know. It not love at first sight for your mom.”

  I returned my attention to Halmuni, who had flipped her menu over to peruse the side dishes. Her finger traveled down pictures of fried oysters cooked with savory pancake batter, and tofu stew.

  “But it was love at first sight for Dad,” I reminded her. I was no expert in the area of love, but this was one thing I knew.

  She nodded. “Love at first sight for your dad. But you remember how beautiful your mom. How could any man, even a man not Korean, not fall in love with her?”

  I nodded. Ever since I was a kid, I had heard the story of my parents getting together. The way my dad told it, he knew he loved my mom from the first moment he set eyes on her. Some kids would roll their eyes at hearing about their parents’ romance, but not me. I thought it was sweet.

  My dad, Paul, spent his early 20s teaching English in Korea and backpacking through Asia. One day in Seoul, he went into a salon for a haircut and saw a beautiful, petite hairdresser—with great hair, of course. While he didn’t have qualms about professing his love after only one day, he didn’t realize my mom’s first impression was that he was a typical, bumbling, crass, white idiot. Still sitting in the chair with her snipping at his hair, he serenaded her with High Hopes. The other girls in the salon giggled, and she snapped at him, “Be still, I’ll cut you.” When his haircut was finished, he refused to leave, consuming the salon’s complimentary tea, waiting, and asking my mom, Soo Jin, to go out with him.

  “Only men have love at first sight,” said Halmuni, “but it not real. Men think love at first sight, but it’s just ... they want sex.”

  “Halmuni!”

  “Your mother so beautiful, he thinking not from head or heart, but with that.” She pointed downward, and I cringed.

  “Women more smart than that.” Halmuni nodded at me as if to say, “You listen to your Halmuni. I know what I’m talking about!”

  I started to object—Not my dad—but changed my mind. What did I know about love anyway? I’d never even had a boyfriend.

  Halmuni patted my hand. “You know it when time right. It take time. If it don’t, you not with right man.”

  “So, you’re telling me to take lots and lots of time.”

  She frowned. “Not too much time. Just be smart. Lots of men will say they love you, but they think with their thing down there. Because you are like your mom, beautiful girl. When you find right guy, you’ll love him, too. Like your mom loved your father.”

  Not a day went by I didn’t think about my parents, but as I sat there at the table thinking about love and marriage, old memories resurfaced. Stuff I hadn’t thought of in a while. Some of them, I couldn’t be sure if they were actual memories or if I had just heard them from Halmuni and B.B. Chu.

  After my parents got married and came to LA, my mother started her own salon while my dad worked as a carpenter. We owned the smallest home on the block, but we lived in Hancock Park, one of the nicer parts of LA. I suddenly longed to step back into our kitchen with the peeling yellow wallpaper. In my mind’s eye, I padded down the narrow hall to the living room with the long oak table, scratches etched into the wood. I even missed the bathroom with the broken toilet lid that would slip off the bowl if you didn’t drop it just right. And I wished for one more moment with my dad quizzing me on biology, my mom yelling at us to stop—to give my “brain a break.”

  “What you want order? Let’s share main dish.”

  I chuckled to myself. Frugal, I thought. That’s my Halmuni. So much for picking anything I liked.

  Mark came back over to refill my water glass, and Halmuni asked him for Beef Bulgogi. Once he left, her gaze wandered. When I heard her make a ‘tsk’ sound, I turned to see what she was looking at. A couple sat on the other side of the restaurant—one Korean boy, one white girl. They held hands.

  “No good. That.”

  “You mean like my parents?”

  “Yes, like your parents.” Halmuni nodded her head, causing a few strands of thinning grey hair to escape her ponytail.

  “You loved my dad.”

  “I loved him. But I wanted Korean.” Her old eyes had moistened at being reminded of my mom and dad. “Your dad different from other Americans. Good. But messy.”

  A moment later, Mark returned with a bowl of raw, thin slices of marinated beef, along with green onions, garlic and sesame oil. Before he set down the food, Halmuni began coughing. I looked away as if not acknowledging this would make her stop.
Whenever we went to eat, she played the sick old woman.

  “Oh, dear. Sorry.” She coughed again, her voice becoming a whisper. “Bad chest. Get worse with age. Do you think I could get some soup for my chest?”

  I was so used to Halmuni’s act it usually didn’t bother me very much, but I didn’t want to have her embarrass me in front of Mark.

  “Oh, sure, since it’s a special occasion.”

  “And some extra side dishes, too?”

  He ran off, probably praying today would not be the day one of his customers died at the table. Halmuni resumed her posture, then seared the beef over the open flame. She pointed at the mixed couple again, using her chopsticks to emphasize her words.

  “White people never understand Korean culture. Those women on Housewives of Beverly Hills, they michyeosseo. Crazy. They don’t know Korean stuff.” Halmuni pointed to the white girl playing footsie with the boy. I’d hoped Halmuni hadn’t noticed. “Korean women wouldn’t act like that.”

  Taking a piece of beef from Halmuni, I tried to change the subject. “I worry about leaving you here by yourself.”

  “Kelly, you know those just fake coughs.”

  “No, Halmuni. I mean in general.”

  Halmuni sat back. She looked out the window at the cars zooming down Wilshire. “I be fine. You taught me Spy.”

  “Skype.”

  “Spy, Skype, whatever. You go East Coast and explore. Only four years.”

  “I’ll come back for vacations, and you’ll come visit me. Think what a good time we’ll have in New York.”

  She waved away the thought. “Too expensive. We’ll talk on Spy.”

  “And then I’ll be back for law school.”

  “Good. Good.”

  I put my chopsticks down. I wanted her to know I was serious. “Halmuni. I’m going to do everything I can to be financially independent. And to become a lawyer. I don’t want to have to lean on you anymore.”

  Halmuni looked at me. In the right light, the brown in her eyes turned into an opaque golden.

  “I know. You good girl. Always been.”

  Our server returned with Halmuni’s soup and side dishes. When he caught my eye, I looked down. I wanted to apologize for this whole charade, but I knew my grandmother would take this as the ultimate betrayal. And anyway, it’s not like I could’ve managed to hold his look for more than a second or two.

  Halmuni let out a few more coughs. “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And by the way, congrats again,” he told me.

  “Thank you.” I felt my cheeks burning. I blamed my father’s ruddy complexion for never being able to hide my blushes.

  “Kelly smart girl,” said Halmuni. “She got scholarship, too. So we afford your restaurant!” Then she said, “Young man, you toast with us?”

  Oh, no, I thought, realizing what she was up to.

  Uncertainly, he looked from her to me. “Um, sure, if you like.”

  “You get me some free Soju, okay? And then we toast together.”

  As he walked off to fetch the complimentary Soju, I had to admit, she was really good at this.

  “Kelly, when you successful attorney, you look back on today as day your life began. You won’t grow old in third-story condo like Halmuni. You own big house with swimming pool, like Real Housewives.”

  Mark came back, opened the bottle, and, using two hands, poured Soju into a shot glass.

  Halmuni grinned and nodded, pleased that Mark knew the Korean etiquette for pouring a drink for someone older than you. “Cheers!” she said. “Congrats to my Kelly for getting into Columbia. Not only pretty girl, but also sooo smart!” Halmuni raised her glass and clicked it against Mark’s “You think she’s pretty, don’t you?”

  Now it was Mark’s turn to blush. “Very pretty,” he mumbled, embarrassed. He took a tiny sip, then asked, “So, do you need anything else?”

  “We’re good,” I said. “Thanks, Mark.” Calling him by his name felt bold. But after all, I reminded myself: I was a Columbia student now. Enough of shy Kelly. But then I thought, Who are you kidding, Kelly. Shy might as well be your middle name.

  He left, and I breathed a sigh of relief, stirring a straw in my water. “I just want to have enough money to take care of you like my mom and dad would’ve. They sacrificed so much for me.”

  “They wanted to. When you want to do it, no sacrifice.”

  She finished round one of her side dishes, pushing plates of food toward me. Picking up my chopsticks, I couldn’t help but look over at the couple again. They looked sweet together, not destined for failure. They seemed to be playing some kind of game with their napkin while they waited. The girl must’ve got the answer right because she lifted her hands in the air, throwing her head back with laughter. He grinned at her.

  As I continued to stare at them, my longing turned to fear. I wondered if I would ever find someone willing to go out with a half-Korean girl who has never been in love before.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The moment I entered the law office, B.B. Chu’s shout echoed through the office suite: “Kelly, you brilliant young lady! Get in here!”

  I could feel my cheeks flushing. If the receptionist hadn’t been staring at me from her desk, I might have quietly backed into the corridor and sneaked away.

  But B.B. had given me no choice. I stopped in his doorway.

  “I knew it. I knew it all along.”

  For a moment, I let my eyes wander up to his Boston College and Hastings Law School diplomas. How many times had I fantasized that one day I, too, might occupy the corner suite of a large office? Columbia’s seal would greet others as they entered. I even pictured myself mentoring a protégé, someone shy like me. Would I still be awkward by then? Or, would I have it together as a professional?

  I dipped my head and whispered, with solemnity and politeness that I hoped would have made my mother proud, “Thank you. You’ve always been there for me, B.B., always believed in me, and ...”

  He held up his hands, interrupting the speech I’d been rehearsing. “My turn,” he said, and I knew what was coming. He’d been preparing his own speech. I cringed. I knew I might be standing there in his office doorway for the next half hour, listening to how proud he was of me, how I never believed in myself as much as I should, how I needed to reach for the stars, how I ...

  His phone pinged, and I thought, Oh, thank you, whoever you are.

  He put his finger up to give him a minute, then swiped his iPad. His shoulders sagged, and I knew it must be a message from his mother. His forehead always creased at the top of his T-Zone whenever she barged into his life on social media. I waited, expecting this might take a while.

  B.B. continued to stare at his screen so long his forehead contracted into a V shape, and at last my curiosity got the better of me. “Everything okay?”

  “Sorry.” He motioned me to close the door.

  I came back to take a seat across from him.

  He slid over his iPad. “My mom doesn’t understand what’s private about private messaging.”

  I scrolled down. His mom had posted multiple times on his public news feed. Each entry presented a new, eligible Korean woman she thought he should date. And to B.B.’s mother, dating was just one short step to her real goal—marriage.

  “Oh, boy.”

  She had written in all caps: “Nancy! Amazing! Beautiful! Amazing!

  I saw 1 Comment, and I couldn’t help laughing. “Who comments on these?”

  Then I clicked on the comment and put my hand to my mouth. Oh God. B.B. shook his head. Halmuni Kim. Now it was my turn to cringe.

  “Oh yeah, she always comments. Finds them all hilarious, apparently.”

  I looked closer. On every post, she had written ‘Pretty girl. LOL.’

  “She’s not laughing.” I scooted the iPad back to him. “She thinks LOL means ‘Lots of Love.’”

  “She does?”

  “She doesn’t understand any social media lingo. Sometime
s she’ll shout YOLO at the TV, and I’m like, ‘Do you know what that means?’ and she’ll go, ‘It has a meaning?’”

  “It’s a wonder they can login at all.”

  “I feel like there should be some sort of parental blocking, but for old people—”

  The door opened without a knock. “That’s one gorgeous woman your mom’s picked out for you this time.” Dan, one of the other attorneys in the office, dropped into the chair beside mine. Dan always delivered his remarks stone-cold, without the tiniest smirk or smile in his blandly, round face. He was Korean American, but unlike B.B., he could speak Korean fluently. Overweight from snacking at work, whenever he was particularly stressed, he would carbo-load.

  “Potato chips are his nemesis,” B.B. once told me.

  Though he had a wide face, he had very small eyes so when he laughed, you couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed. B.B also told me Dan had spoken a few times about getting his eyes done, but couldn’t actually go through with it.

  “Besides,” B.B. had said. “Dan thinks women are attracted to successful men, so all he has to do is make lots of money.”

  Dan counted the words off his fingers as he spoke. “If you ask me, she’s amazing. Beautiful, too. Did I mention amazing?” Dan and B.B. had a brotherly, love-hate relationship. Even after so many months of listening to their daily banter, I barely understood it.

  “Dan, first of all, get off Facebook. And second, go F yourself.”

  “Will do, B.B., will do,” Dan said. “Gonna go F myself right now.” Except he didn’t move from his chair. “But first, when am I’m gonna get to see the one and only matchmaker again in person? Any minute, I’m guessing.”

  B.B. picked up his stapler, threatening Dan with it.

  “Don’t kill me,” Dan protested. “I’m just a fan of your mom. I love her ... tenacity. If her son was such a go-getter, we’d have doubled our business by now”