Page 1 of XOXO

One

Jay’s Karaoke sits at the center of a Koreatown strip mall between a Boba Land 2 and Sookie’s Hair Emporium.

The door to the latter bursts open as I pass. “Yah, Jenny-yah!” Sookie Kim, owner and hairdresser, stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag and a flat iron. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Kim,” I say, then stretch my neck to look over her shoulder where three middle-aged women are seated in a row beneath hair dryers watching a K-drama on a wall-mounted TV. “Hi, Mrs. Lim, Mrs. Chang, Mrs. Sutjiawan.”

“Hi, Jenny,” they chorus back, waving at me briefly before returning their attention to the couple on screen who appear to be heading toward a K-drama kiss. The man leans his head one way, the woman the other, their lips touch and hold as the camera pans out with dramatic music soaring in the background.

As the credits start to roll, the ladies collapse back in their chairs with dreamy sighs. Well, two of them do.

“That’s it?” Mrs. Sutjiawan throws her house slipper at the TV.

“Here.” Ignoring the women, Mrs. Kim hands over the plastic bag she’s holding, which on closer inspection appears to be food wrapped up in a H Mart grocery bag and knotted tight. “This is for you to share with your mother.”

“Thank you.” I adjust my tote on my shoulder and bow slightly as I take the offering.

Mrs. Kim clicks her tongue. “Your mother works too much! She should be at home more, looking after her daughter.”

I’m almost certain my mother works the same amount of hours at the office as Mrs. Kim does at her own business, but I have a strong enough sense of self-preservation not to point this out. Instead, I continue to give off respectable-young-person-vibes and smile politely. It seems to be working because Mrs. Kim’s face softens. “Your mother must be so proud of you, Jenny. A good student. And so gifted in cello! I tell my Eunice that good music schools only take the best, but does she listen?”

“Sookie-ssi!” one of the ladies calls from inside.

“Coming,” she yells back. As she heads into her shop, I make my way next door.

Ever since Eunice and I started entering the same classical music competitions in seventh grade, Mrs. Kim has been comparing the two of us. With the compliments she’s always giving me, I shudder to think what Eunice is receiving on the opposite end. Lately, I haven’t seen her at any of the competitions. She wasn’t at last Saturday’s, the results of which are currently burning a hole through my jacket pocket. If Mrs. Kim were toread what the judges said about me, she wouldn’t be so quick with her praise.

The bells above the door at Jay’s Karaoke chime my arrival.

“Be right there!” Uncle Jay’s voice travels from behind the curtain that separates the bar from the kitchen.

Edging around the counter, I drop my tote and open the mini fridge to stuff Mrs. Kim’s Tupperware between bottles of soju.

Seven years ago, Dad and Uncle Jay bought this place in order to fulfill a dream they’d had since they were kids, to own and manage a karaoke business together.

Uncle Jay isn’t related to me by blood, but he and my dad were like brothers. After my dad passed, it was Uncle Jay who asked my mom if I could come work for him after school. At first Mom was against it, worried a part-time job wouldn’t leave enough time for school and orchestra practice, but she came around when Uncle Jay said I could do my homework during off hours. Plus I practically grew up here. I have memories of Dad behind the bar, laughing with Uncle Jay as he whipped up his latest concoction, not forgetting a special non-alcoholic drink just for me.

For years, I wasn’t allowed in the bar—Mom was afraid it’d bring back memories—but so far it’s been fun, and the memories, only good ones.

I spray the counter with cleaning solution and wipe it down, then move onto the tall bar tables. There aren’t any customers in the main room, though a glimpse down the hall shows a fewof the private karaoke rooms are occupied.

“Hey, Jenny, thought that was you.” Uncle Jay emerges, holding two paper plates of steaming food. “Today’s special is bulgogi tacos. Hungry?”

“Starving.” I hop onto a barstool and Uncle Jay places the plate in front of me, two tacos with bulgogi marinated in his own special sauce, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and kimchi.

While I inhale my food, Uncle Jay turns on Netflix above the bar, scrolling through available movies.

This is our ritual. The bar doesn’t get busy until later in the night, so we spend early evenings eating and watching movies, specifically Asian gangster films.

“Here we are,” Uncle Jay says, landing on a classic.The Man from Nowherealso known asAjeossi.An action thriller about an embittered ex-cop whose young neighbor is kidnapped and goes on a journey to bring her back home. It’s like the KoreanTaken, but better. Because it has Won Bin. Won Bin makes everything better.

Uncle Jay puts on the subtitles and we eat and watch the film, commenting on the believability that somehow Won Bin is an ajeossi, a middle-aged man,at thirty-three. When customers come in, he turns the volume down and leads them to their rooms. I keep an eye on the monitor that shows whether someone has pushed a call button, so that I can take the customers’ orders and bring them their food while Uncle Jay handles their drink orders.

By the time nine o’clock rolls around, half the rooms arefilled and the movie is finished; instead, K-pop blares over the speakers. Every month, Uncle Jay streams YouTube compilations of the top music videos of the month on the TV in the bar. I watch as a group of girls in color-coordinated outfits performs a complicated and synchronized dance to a catchy electro-pop song.

Unlike some of the kids at my school, I never could get into K-pop, or any pop, really. A playlist of my life would include Bach, Haydn, and Yo-Yo Ma.

“Didn’t you have an important competition this week?” Uncle Jay inspects a glass behind the counter, drying it with a rag.

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