Page 31 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

“I’ll ask my friend. She can help.” I pluck the photos from Anna’s hands and hurry to my room. I need to plug in my dead phone.

“Mind if I eat some of your food?”

“Feel free.” She can eat all of it. The only important thing is the photos.

In the room, I charge the phone, strip off the dress, and dart down the stairs into the bathroom. After taking the quickest shower possible, I run back to my phone. By the time I get back, the phone has a 10 percent charge and a number of messages have downloaded, including one from my mom.

The excitement over the pictures fades a little at the sight of Ellen’s name on my phone. I shouldn’t feel this excited over the possibility of finding my birth mother. I rub the space between my eyebrows and wonder how much Mom needs to know. Definitely that my father is dead, but the mother news seems unnecessary. The photos are leads. That’s all. There’s no actual confirmation that one of these photos is of my birth mother or that I can even find this woman. Seoul is home to nearly ten million people. Plus, these photos might not even have been taken in Seoul. Lee Jonghyung could be from the other side of the country for all I know and have recently moved to Seoul. There are so many ifs and contingencies that it makes no sense to wind my mother up. If I find my birth mother, then I’ll have something to share with Ellen; otherwise, she will be emotionally distraught over nothing.

I unlock my phone and start reading.

MOM: Miss you. Hope everything is going well. I read about the spy cams. You should do something about that.

MOM: Are you okay? Is your phone working? Do you need anything?

MOM: Honey. I haven’t heard from you in nearly a day. Do I need to start calling hospitals?

Oh no. I check my voicemails. There are four—all from Ellen. I double-check the time zones. The clock says that it’s ten in the morning, which means it’s eight in the evening at home. It’s early enough to call, but I don’t want to. It’s easier to duck Mom’s questions if we’re communicating via text.

ME: Phone died. I was with Boyoung. Sorry. Am fine. Safe.

The response is immediate, as if Ellen has been waiting by the phone.

MOM: I was so worried. Where is your extra battery charger? Is your passport safe? Are there spy cams in your room?

ME: I don’t think so. There are a bunch of women who live here.

MOM: You can’t assume!!!!

ME: I’ll double-check. I promise.

MOM: Go and check and then give me an update.

ME: I will.

I have no idea how to do that so I pass the time by checking my emails and downloading the Naver app that Anna mentioned. I pull up the website that promises to teach me the entire alphabet in fifteen minutes and study the Hangul characters. It’s not easy. Fifteen minutes pass and I’m still not fluent, but I have wasted enough time that my mother will believe I’ve done all the things she wants me to do.

ME: All clear.

MOM: Thank goodness. Bring your charger with you wherever you go. I love you.

ME: I love you, too.

It’s not until I hit send that I realize I didn’t mention Lee Jonghyung’s funeral, but also, Mom didn’t ask. It’s possible that she doesn’t want to know that information. Perhaps she’s pretending I’m on some cultural exchange visit that has nothing to do with searching for my biological parents. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. If that’s how Mom is dealing with this trip, then I’m definitely right to keep the information regarding the five women to myself. It’s not as if Ellen, all the way back in Iowa, can help me here in Seoul.

There’s one person who can, though. I call Boyoung.

“Pictures?” my friend screeches.

“Five of them,” I confirm. “It’s him—my dad—and five women.”

“Five?”

The stunned silence on Boyoung’s end erodes some of my excitement and forces me to acknowledge that Lee Jonghyung was kind of a jerk. He’d hooked up with five women all around the same time and they could all potentially be the woman who gave birth to me. It’s like I won the bad-dad lottery twice.

“I know. It’s a lot.”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that,” my friend apologizes, which is silly.

“I want to find all of them, but I will need your help.”

“Of course,” she responds immediately. “Should we meet?”

“Yes.” I sit up in excitement and look around for my clothes. With Boyoung’s help, this won’t be the impossible task that Anna suggested it would be.

“I can’t today, but tomorrow. Let’s meet for lunch. I’ll come to you and we can grab a bite to eat nearby.”

“Sounds perfect,” I lie. I’d forgotten Boyoung has a family here in Korea. She’s not at my beck and call. “In the meantime, I’ll make friends with my new flatmates.”

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