I jerk upright and see Boyoung sitting at the kitchen table. As she rises from her chair, I check my phone in confusion. Had I missed something?
“I didn’t get a message from you.”
“Yes, I know. One of your flatmates let me in on their way out of the house. I found something and wanted to bring it to you in person.” She pulls a piece of paper out of the pocket of her crisply pleated wide-legged pants. I feel dingy in comparison. One of these days, I’m going to look as good as a regular Seoulite, but that would require me spending less time walking around and more time in underground shopping venues. There are tons of cute things on racks lining the halls of the tunnels. Next week— I cut myself off. I won’t be here next week.
“Can you text it to me? Jules found two of the women in a university database and one of them wants to meet in Gangnam.”
Her brows shoot up. “I’ll come with you. Be your interpreter, yes?” Before I can say no, Boyoung is beside me, toeing on a pair of black sneakers.
I smush my lips together, trying to figure out if this is the best course of action. While I can use the subway and catch a taxi, I have trouble with simple transactions at the store. If this Kwon Hyeun’s spoken English isn’t as fluent as her written English, we’ll have a hard time communicating. On the other hand, if Kwon Hyeun is my mother, it would be nice for me to break down in privacy and not in front of Boyoung. Then again, I could completely misunderstand Kwon and miss something important. I opt to include my friend. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Boyoung looks relieved. “I’m sorry I did not contact you earlier. I could not find anything at first and did not want to disappoint you.”
“It’s fine.” It’s ironic that for a week I was floundering, and now I’m getting aid from all corners—my flatmates, Boyoung, and Yujun’s mom. What are the odds? Although I guess the odds were better with Yujun. He’d known I was adopted from almost the beginning. I guess that’s why he took an interest in me.
Boyoung trots to keep up. “Well . . . that’s good. That’s really good. How did you find your information?”
“Jules had a passenger that was a professor at some university who was working on a genealogy project. We went to the university and searched their database. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something, but I hadn’t realized you were still working on it.”
“No. No. It’s, what do you say, all good?” Boyoung gives me a small smile. “I did find information, though. Maybe it”—she crosses one flat hand over the other—“overlaps?”
I stop walking. “Really? On who?”
Boyoung’s face brightens. “One of the names we could not make out, I believe I found her. She does not live in Seoul but is from Gangwon-do. It’s to the east of Seoul. She came to the city for work and moved back home when her parents were too elderly to continue working. It is about three hours from here. We can take a train and then a bus or taxi from there. It will take all day, but that’s okay, right?”
I hesitate. It’s another day out of my fast-dwindling time left, and that means I won’t get to spend much more of it with Yujun. Disappointment dims my spirit, but this is why I came to Seoul. Not to hang around the city, drinking beer at isolated parks along the Han River, holding hands with a guy. “Yes,” I say finally, moving again. “That sounds good.” But I might not need to go because I have this feeling about Kwon. I think she’s the one.
“The other women were not— They did not work out?” Boyoung queries.
“No. One didn’t know him and the other, well, she denied having any children and I believed her.”
“Then who is it today?”
“Kwon Hyeun. I was at her house yesterday but she refused to talk to me. Then today I got a text saying she would meet with me.”
“Ah, that’s good, then.”
“Right. Very good.” Excitement surges inside of me and wipes away the irritation I felt toward Boyoung for disappearing for two days. Even if Kwon Hyeun is not my birth mother, she knows something. She must or she’d never have contacted me. I carry this hope in my heart the whole cab ride. My heart beats faster at every stoplight.
The coffee shop is a sleek, modern building with smoky glass windows and black signage with crisp white lettering. “Angel’s Brew” is written in English. There is no corresponding Hangul. I halt in front of the door, take a deep breath, and nearly tip over from light-headedness. I haven’t eaten anything since the cup of ramen and hotteok the night before.