Page 63 of Mother Parker
“Then, when Omma turned twenty-one, my harabeoji—my grandad—lost his life in an accident at work. He’d taken a life insurance by some miracle so Omma decided to open a bubble tea shop and take Halmeoni out of the factory life. Bubble tea was all the rage back then, so with my halmeoni’s infinite tea wisdom, they opened a bubble tea café.”
His face got even paler, if that was possible, and his eyes glazed, staring at the blank spot on the table.
“So I grew up in that café. Well, I did until I was seven or something. The memories have faded, but every time I taste the tapioca pearls or drink a bubble tea, I hear Omma’s laugh, see her beautiful face, remember how kind she was.”
A glimmer appeared in his eyes and landed on my chest with a thud. I didn’t like where this was going.
“If this is too upsetting—”
He raised his gaze to meet mine and smiled, blinking away the tears that hadn’t quite run down his cheeks.
“Oh no. It’s okay. This is ancient history,” he said, taking a big gulp of the red wine.
“What happened to her?”
His nostrils flared and his mouth tensed.
“My sperm donor happened,” he said. “He was a regular at the café and took a fancy to my mom. So he wore her down after months of stupid, meaningless compliments, knocked her up, then left her. He was married, you see, and he couldn’t handle the scandal of an illegitimate child, so he fucked off and left my omma to fend for herself. Not that she couldn’t. She was a fighter.
“But then he showed up years later wanting to take me from her. Said I was his child, and I needed to be with my father instead of living in poverty in the back of a filthy bubble tea shop. So Omma fought him in court and won, but the legal fees wiped her out, and she was forced to sell the shop.
“So she and Halmeoni took everything they had left and moved here. There was an incentive back then to get more people to move and buy houses here dirt-cheap. It was supposed to be our clean slate, but a year later, she had a heart attack and passed away. It turned out she had diabetes, but it was never diagnosed. I was nine at the time. So it’s been Halmeoni and I since then.
“It took me years to find out the real story. Halmeoni wouldn’t tell me all the details. But I found it all out eventually. And that asshat of a sperm donor only wanted me because his wife couldn’t have children.”
“Sounds like a dickbag,” I said.
“He was,” he said with emphasis, and the message was received loud and clear. “But enough about me. What about you?”
“I am also a dickbag,” I said and raised a glass to that, hoping it would lighten the mood after what he’d just told me.
Hwan didn’t laugh though. He just stared and blinked faster as if urging me to say something I didn’t know he’d asked.
“You’re not,” he said. “And that’s not what I meant.”
“Have you asked anyone else around here? I’m surprised Ash and Maddox haven’t kicked me out yet,” I said.
“No one’s saying you’re a dickbag. Why do you think you are?”
I shrugged.
“Don’t know. I seem to piss people off all the time. Or push them away. Or give them no choice but to walk.”
Hwan shuffled in his chair but didn’t take his eyes off me. And quite frankly, I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind one bit.
“Are you talking about your ex-wife?” he asked.
I shrugged again. “Her, the ones before, everyone, really.”
“Wait. Are you trying to tell me you’ve been married before?”
I shook my head.
“No. But I was engaged twice before Becca.”
Even saying her name filled me with shame and regret.
“What happened?” he asked.
