Page 88 of Heart and Seoul (Seoul 1)

I clear my throat and try it out. “Jamkkanmanyo.”

I must’ve pronounced it well enough because the driver turns to me. “Ne?”

Yes, I translate in my head. “Jeolyeomhan hoteli eodi isseoyo.” The words come out halting and, from the confusion on the driver’s face, possibly incoherent. I open my mouth to try again when the door flies open. Yujun’s face appears.

“Come,” he says, and then tacks on a “please.”

“I don’t think—”

“Everything has been taken care of,” he rushes to interrupt me. “But for me you would be home, so please, come.” Before I can respond he hands the cabdriver a handful of bills.

The cabdriver takes the money with a smile and says something in rapid Korean and waves his hand, pointing out the window. I look past Yujun to see a couple of women behind him. Their cheeks are flushed from alcohol and one is swaying on her feet.

Yujun gives me wincing smile. “Our driver would like to take these two to their destination. Why don’t you look at the room, and if you don’t like it, I’ll find you another.”

In other words, I’m being a hassle. I slide out of the seat and step aside as the two girls push by us to get into the car. The one that wasn’t on her way to passing out stops before Yujun and cocks her head. She drags her lower lip down with her thumb and the words that trip off her tongue are Korean, but I know from the sweet, coy tone exactly what they mean. I’m right here, but since I don’t know how to say that, I reach into my shallow puddle of a vocabulary and loudly say, “Jamkkanmanyo.”

The girl starts and swings toward me in surprise, as if she forgot or didn’t even realize I was there. Yujun presses his lips together and averts his face to cough into his fist. Is he laughing? Before I can get too outraged, Yujun reaches for my hand and tugs me to his side. “My girlfriend is here with me.”

“Yeoja chingu?”

It’s the shock that digs under my skin and causes me to lean into Yujun’s frame. I bat my eyelashes at the other girl and, while she inspects me, draw my thumb across my lower lip and press bare remnants of my lipstick onto Yujun’s crisp white shirt. It leaves a tiny, almost imperceptible stain. Yujun coughs into his fist again and this time I realize he’s covering a smirk.

I roll my eyes, but since I brought this on, I guess I should end it. “Let’s go.” I arrow toward the entrance, but Yujun catches my arm and nudges me down a different path toward a smaller door. A man steps out and holds the door open for us. It reminds me of the time when we were at the club. “Is your friend DJ Song here?” I joke.

A line appears between Yujun’s eyes. “Ahn Sangki?”

“Yeah, him.” I flutter my hand toward the side entrance. “We went through the side door of the club, remember?”

“I remember. He does make an impression.” Yujun sounds slightly peeved. “I asked a friend for a favor, as I didn’t think you wanted to go through the lobby.”

I glance down at my wrinkled clothes. I’d momentarily forgotten I took a bath in the Han. “Good call,” I say and give him a thumbs-up.

The hotel guy leads us down a back hallway. With its plain floor tiles and white walls, it’s apparent that we’re in some employee area. He leaves us at the service elevator, which takes us to the eleventh floor. At a room near the end of the hall, Yujun stops, produces a key card, and then waves me inside. Unsurprisingly, the room is posh, with dark wood floors and wood paneling on the walls. The curtains are open and even though it is dark, I can make out the outline of a mountain in the background. Yujun flicks on some lights and opens a closet that I missed on the way in. He holds out a robe for me.

“I was worried about you.” There’s a slight chiding note in his voice. “I texted you as I was leaving but didn’t hear back.” He grimaces and I realize he’s more angry at himself than me. “I promised I’d be there for you and I wasn’t. My father’s nurse called and asked that I come quickly. He fell ill a few years ago. That’s when Choi Wansu was appointed sajangnim, the head of IF Group. I would’ve told you before, but . . . I didn’t want you to be concerned.”

We hadn’t had that kind of relationship—the one that shared the bad things in our lives. Ours was a vacation fling, no matter how many cameras and Wi-Fi bands connected us. I used him the same way he used me. We allowed ourselves the luxury of joy, but that meant all the dark, dirty spots in our lives were ones we had to clean ourselves. There’s a certain freedom in the knowing, a lightness that I hadn’t felt before, and because anger is such a tiring, corrosive emotion, I let that slide away, too.

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