by An Na
“You are such a dork,” Joyce said.
Gina opened her eyes. “Yes, but I am your dork.” Gina sat up. “Helen can’t be better than you at everything. Who has the better best friend, huh?” Gina pointed at herself.
Joyce reached out her hand. “I definitely have the better best friend,” Joyce said, helping Gina off the ground and then scooting over so that Gina could sit on the sack of rice with her. “You’re my best dork.”
Gina bumped her shoulder. “Thanks.”
“I just don’t understand why they hugged,” Joyce said, starting to feel miserable again.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure John just knows Helen from some stupid club.”
“But now that he knows where she works, he’ll want to see her all the time,” Joyce said, kicking the sack with her heel.
“You don’t know that, Joyce. Just talk to Helen and ask her about John.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Yes you do,” Gina said.
“Yeah, well, whatever Helen wants, Helen gets,” Joyce said.
“Stop being so negative.”
“I’m just saying what’s true.”
“Joyce, you don’t know that Helen even likes John. Why would she want to go out with someone in high school? Just because you think he’s a total babe does not mean everyone else is panting over him. Look at me,” Gina said, pointing at herself. “You see me being a complete fool for that weird light brown hair and lurch walk?”
“His hair is auburn, and he has to walk that way ’cause of all his muscles. Surfing takes at lot of strength, you know.”
Gina continued to stare her down.
Joyce sighed. Gina did have a point. John was younger than Helen, and even if he liked her, it didn’t mean that Helen liked him. Perhaps not everyone was as impressed as Joyce was with John Ford Kang.
“Okay, you’re right.” Joyce stood up. “Come on, we should go help out in front.”
“It’ll be fun working together,” Gina said, linking arms. “I got your back.”
“Thanks.” Joyce smiled.
Before Joyce had a chance to speak with Helen about John, the dinner crowd began to stream in. Gina and Joyce worked quickly, showing customers to their tables and taking their orders before bringing out the small plates of banchan. At the height of the dinner rush, when almost all the tables were taken, Gomo walked into the restaurant with a young man in a blue suit. Joyce almost tripped with her large tray loaded with rice, bulgoki and jap-che when she saw the two of them standing near the door. Apa quickly stashed his book under the counter before getting up to hobble over to the front.
Apa bowed and greeted Gomo and her guest.
“Joyce.” Gomo waved.
“One minute, Gomo,” Joyce called back as she set the tray down at a table with a family of five and unloaded the food. After making sure the family was all set, Joyce quickly hurried over to Apa, Gomo and her guest.
Joyce bowed and greeted Gomo.
“Joyce, this is Mr. Moon,” Gomo said, her face twitching into a smile as she introduced him. “Mr. Moon, this is my youngest niece, Joyce.”
“On-young-ha-say-yo,” Mr. Moon said and bowed. When he straightened back up, Joyce noticed that he had a rather square head but pleasant enough features. Joyce wondered why Gomo was dining with him. She usually brought her friends, women her age from church, to the restaurant, not some young guy who looked like he worked at a bank or something.
Joyce bowed back and mumbled her greeting.
Gomo touched Joyce’s elbow and whispered, “Where is your sister?”
“In the back with Mrs. Lee,” Joyce whispered back. She could see a couple who had been waiting to be seated start to frown in annoyance. “Let me take care of these people first, Gomo, and then I will get Helen for you.”
Gomo glanced over her shoulder at the other couple. “Mr. Moon and I are here to eat. We can sit over there,” Gomo said and pointed at the last empty table.
Before Joyce and Apa could protest, Gomo led Mr. Moon over to the table. Joyce sighed and shook her head. Apa turned to apologize to the angry twosome, but they were already heading for the door. Joyce headed to the kitchen while Apa limped over to talk to Gomo and take their orders.
Helen and Mrs. Lee were working quickly and efficiently together in the kitchen. There was no mad scrambling or shouting instructions from across the room like there had been when Joyce was working in the back.
“I almost have your order ready,” Helen said as she quickly plated some marinated tofu and poured some sauce on top. Helen handed the dish to Joyce.
“Gomo’s out there with some Mr. Moon guy,” Joyce said, taking the plate.
“Who?” Helen looked confused.
Joyce shrugged. “Mr. Moon. Gomo wants to see you.”
Helen took a deep breath. “Can you tell her I’ll be out in another half hour or so?”
“Do you want me to handle the back while you go see her right now?” Joyce asked.
“NO!” Helen and Mrs. Lee both said at the same time.
“Fine.” Joyce scowled and left with the plate of tofu.
On her way to deliver the order, Joyce stopped by Mr. Moon and Gomo’s table to report that Helen would be with them shortly, after the dinner rush had let up a bit. Joyce saw a tiny flicker of anger wrinkle Gomo’s nose, which was the only part of Gomo’s face that could really move, but Mr. Moon seemed perfectly content to wait. Joyce caught him squinting and studying her face as she spoke to Gomo.
“We need tea and some water,” Gomo said right before Joyce turned to leave.
Joyce nodded and rushed to drop off the marinated tofu with an older gentleman dining alone and then she made her way to the wet bar behind the register counter to fill Gomo’s drink order. Gina met up with her and picked up another pitcher of water.
“Who is he?” Gina whispered.
“I have no idea,” Joyce whispered back, filling two water glasses with ice. “He seems kind of formal, like a banker or something. Maybe he’s handling Gomo’s big lottery money.”
Gina quickly glanced over her shoulder. “Definitely not a banker. More like sales.”
Joyce grabbed two teacups and poured some warm barley tea. “How do you know?”
“Look at those shoes,” Gina said. “Brown shoes with a blue suit. Please. And the heels are really worn down. Definitely in sales and not at some classy place, either.” Gina took off to deliver the water to one of her tables.
Joyce shook her head. Gina should work for the CIA or something. Joyce delivered the tea and water to Gomo and Mr. Moon, who was nodding his head at something Gomo was saying.
“Joyce. Please tell your sister she can at least come out of the kitchen to greet us.”
“Yes, Gomo,” Joyce said and headed back to the kitchen.
Apa was sitting on his stool at the register, finalizing the tab for one of her tables and glancing over at Gomo and Mr. Moon with a worried expression on his face.
“Helen,” Joyce called out from the entrance to the kitchen. “Gomo wants you to come out and at least say hello.”
Helen pulled her chopsticks out of a jar of kimchee. Her face began to color as red as the spicy chili seasoning on the cabbage. She set down her chopsticks and followed Joyce out into the dining room. Apa held up a check, and Joyce picked it up to deliver to the family that was ready to leave. Helen headed over to Gomo and Mr. Moon’s table.
“Gam-sah-ham-nee-da,” Joyce said to the family, presenting the check and picking up their empty plates. As she headed back into the kitchen to deposit the dirty dishes with Juan, she watched as Helen approached the table and Mr. Moon quickly scrambled out of the booth to stand up. Helen began to bow just as Mr. Moon thrust out a small gift-wrapped box, smacking Helen in the forehead.
“Ai! Me-on-heh-yo,” Mr. Moon cried and grabbed his glass of ice water.
Helen grimaced in pain and backed away just as Mr. Moon tried to press the cold glass to her forehead. A cascade o
f water spilled down the front of Helen’s apron.
Gomo sat stiffly watching the exchange and then barked, “Sit down, Mr. Moon.”
“Please accept my deepest apology,” he said gloomily before sitting down.
Gomo leaned forward and grabbed the gift out of his hand.
“For you,” Gomo said and handed it to Helen.
Gina raised one eyebrow at Joyce as they passed each other, their laughter barely contained.
As Joyce headed out of the kitchen, Helen was hurrying back inside.
“He’s smooth,” Joyce said at the doorway.
Helen’s face was almost purple with rage. “I don’t have time for this,” she said gruffly and hurried past.
“Look who’s projecting now,” Joyce said to Helen’s back. She turned around and caught Apa furtively thumbing through his book, with his back to Gomo and Mr. Moon. Of all the times to be reading, Joyce thought. Apa was really taking this mystery novel a little too seriously.
By the time the dinner rush let up, Gomo and Mr. Moon had finished their meal and were waiting patiently for Helen to join them. Apa stood by their table asking Mr. Moon questions while Gomo fired daggers with her eyes at Apa.
“So, Mr. Moon, do you not agree that women need time to explore their own identity before they settle down?”
Mr. Moon looked confused. “Identity?”
“And in this modern age, do you believe in”—Apa searched for the word—“yes, in fluidity?”
“What?”
Gomo grabbed Joyce’s hand as she was passing. “Hurry and get your sister.”
“Yes, Gomo,” Joyce said and went off to the kitchen to hurry Helen so that she could come and stop Apa from rambling even more. Where was he getting all the weird questions?
“Mrs. Lee,” Joyce said, looking around the kitchen. “Where is Helen?”
Mrs. Lee was cleaning the grill and nodded her head at the storage room.
Joyce walked over and stood in the doorway. Helen was sitting on the exact same sack of rice that Joyce had been sitting on earlier in the evening.
“Helen, what are you doing? They’ve been waiting for you all night,” Joyce said.
“I can’t go out there,” Helen mumbled.
“Why?”
“He’s supposed to be my date. He wants to take me to some karaoke place,” Helen said miserably.
Joyce started to smile. “Ohhhh. He’s from that dating service.”
Helen sighed.
“Well, he’s not that ugly. He probably wants to serenade you. Just make sure not to stand too close to him, in case he trips or something.”
“It doesn’t matter what he looks like or what he wants to sing. I don’t want to go out with him.”
Joyce rolled her eyes. Helen was acting like she had to get a cavity filled. What was so wrong with letting a guy take her out?
“It’s just one date,” Joyce muttered and started to turn away.
Helen’s head sank even farther. “Yeah, right,” she sighed. “First it’ll be one date and then he’ll start calling and want to have dinner and then he’ll want the kiss good night. And then”—Helen pulled out a small jewelry box from the front pocket of her apron—“they all want more.”
Joyce had never seen Helen so dejected before. Joyce was the one who usually had problems. Not Helen.
Helen fiddled with the box and stared off into space. “Or they start stalking you. Calling your cell phone and dropping by where you work, like that guy earlier tonight.”
Joyce cocked her head. “What guy?”
Helen shrugged and slowly began to open the box. “Some guy from your high school. He was on student council.” She pulled out one rose-colored, heart-shaped gemstone earring. “I think he’s a junior or senior. Why would I date someone as young as my sister?”
Helen placed the earring back in the box and muttered, “It’s like an arranged marriage or something.”
“What’s his name?” Joyce croaked and stepped into the storage room. Her heart was racing like she had just finished climbing the last hill before riding down to her school.
“John.”
“John Ford Kang?”
Helen met Joyce’s eyes. “Who else? There’s only a handful of Asians in your school.”
Joyce strangled back a cry. “He’s a Twinkie. A banana. Why would he want to go out with you? He only dates blondes!” Joyce wailed and grabbed on to one of the shelves for support.
Helen stepped back in surprise. “Calm down, Joyce. Not that I want to date him, but he’s not that bad. I mean, he is kind of player, but he was always really sweet with me. He said he wanted to hang out more with Korean friends. Have you ever talked to him?”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Joyce yelled and turned her back to Helen. Joyce wanted to throw something. She wanted to tear up the storage room and rage against the injustice of it all. Why was Helen always the one everyone wanted? Why wasn’t Joyce ever good enough? Joyce bowed her head and bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying. She was not going to let Helen see her cry.
“Are you okay?” Helen asked, her hand tentatively patting Joyce’s back.
“Don’t touch me,” Joyce mumbled and jerked away from Helen’s touch.
Helen stood still. “Joyce, tell me what’s going on.”
“Leave me alone!” Joyce yelled.
“Girls!”
Helen and Joyce both turned to the doorway. Gomo stood just inside the storage room, firmly clutching her purse with both hands to her stomach as though to shield herself from any muggers that might be lurking in the back kitchen.
“What is all this yelling?” Gomo asked. “Helen, Mr. Moon and I have been waiting for you all night. Do not embarrass me in front of our guest.”
Helen bowed her head.
“He has been very patient.” Gomo beckoned Helen.
Helen walked over to Gomo.
“I’m sorry, Gomo,” Helen said softly.
Gomo stared at Helen’s sorrowful face. She smoothed Helen’s hair back and took in Helen’s oil-splattered apron. “Are you worried about how you look?” Gomo asked. “I have my purse. You may use my makeup if you would like, but you do not need anything. Just change out of your apron. Now, where are the earrings?”
Helen fished inside her pocket and pulled out the small jewelry box.
“Put them on,” Gomo said, smiling. “He will be so pleased to see you wearing his gift.”
Helen carefully took the earrings out of the box and placed them in her unadorned earlobes. The small heart-shaped jewels perfectly matched the rose blush of Helen’s cheeks.
Gomo beamed with pride as though she had picked them out herself, which Joyce would not have put past her.
“Do not be nervous, Helen. Just be yourself and he will see what a wonderful person you are. Truly beautiful inside and out.” Gomo draped her arm around Helen’s shoulder and shepherded her out of the storage area.
As Helen began to round the corner of the doorway, she glanced back at Joyce. And for a moment, in that last heartbreaking look, Joyce couldn’t tell who was more unhappy, Helen or herself.
Joyce followed them out of the storage room. Helen’s back was hunched forward, her feet barely shuffling along. As angry as Joyce was at Helen, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, too. Gomo pulled on Helen’s arm to make her walk faster. For once, Joyce was relieved not to be the perfect older sister.
TWELVE
joyce woke up the next morning and walked out into the living room to find most of her family laid up as though she had entered a hospital. And even though it was a Sunday and they should have been getting ready for church, the television was turned on to the Korean channel. Uhmma and Apa sat on opposite ends of the couch. Uhmma was watching television and cradling Apa’s swollen black-and-blue ankle on her lap, while Apa sat on the other side intently reading his mystery novel. Andy sat on a large folded beach towel in the armchair.
Uhmma looked up as Joyce approached. Her forehead
was slightly smaller, the skin showing some wrinkles instead of being taut as a balloon. Joyce leaned over the back of the couch and gave Uhmma a peck on the cheek.
“Are you feeling better?” Joyce asked.
Uhmma nodded, tiny points of light coming from her now visible eyes. She gingerly poked her forehead. “The swelling is going down.”
Joyce studied Uhmma’s eyebrows, which had begun to look slightly off center and crooked now that the swelling had receded. Joyce didn’t want to say anything to make Uhmma more upset. Apa looked up from his book and offered his cheek for a kiss.
“Good morning, Apa,” Joyce said and gave him a peck as well. “Did you find out who did it yet? Your ankle looks better.”
“It does not feel better,” Apa sighed. “I might have to go to the hospital, after all. I will give it one more day of rest.”
Joyce nodded and glanced over at Andy, who was zoning out on the Korean soap opera. “How ya doing, poopy?”
Andy scowled. “Shut up.”
“Joyce, please tell your brother to stop taking the shark liver pills,” Uhmma urged.
“You’re still taking them after all that moaning last night about how Gomo poisoned you?” Joyce asked and walked over to the kitchen to get herself a bowl of cereal.
Andy perked up. “I called Tom this morning to ask if anything unusual had happened to him when he started taking the pills.”
“I can’t believe Tom Koh would admit that he had the runs,” Joyce said, pouring cereal into a bowl.
“Well, he wouldn’t exactly admit to anything, but he did say that whatever it was, it would pass,” Andy said.
“So you two had an entire conversation about diarrhea without naming it?” Joyce poured milk over her cereal. She stared down into her bowl. “Why am I having this conversation before breakfast?”
Andy turned back to the show. “It’s not diarrhea. It’s a side effect. And it should stop after my body gets used to the pills.”
Uhmma shook her head. “The pills are too strong for you.”
“I just want to try them for another week,” Andy pleaded.
The phone rang. Joyce picked it up.
“You’ll never guess who had the eyelid surgery,” Gina said.