Kimchi & Calamari(32)

“Uhmma, I need a haircut,” Ok-hee said to her mother.

“Joseph’s mother cuts hair very nice,” Mrs. Han said.

“And you could practice your Italian on her,” I added.

Ok-hee touched her barrette, the way girls always do when they’re talking about hair.



Dad was reading in his recliner when I got home. “There’s blueberry pie in the fridge,” he called from behind The Great Gatsby.

“I’m stuffed.” I walked past him toward the stairs.

He looked like he expected me to start a conversation. Why did it always have to be me? He could’ve asked how things went at the Hans.

I hadn’t even reached the top step when Mom’s questions began. “Tell me all about it,” she said, walking out of the bathroom with a mud mask on her face.

“Apparently I fit the profile of a Pusaner perfectly,” I said. I explained how the Hans described Pusaners as straight-talking, no-nonsense types.

Mom laughed. With the mud caked on her face, she looked like a sci-fi creature trapped in a bathrobe. “That sounds like you, all right. Did you enjoy the dinner?”

“Korean mothers make huge quantities of food, just like Italian moms,” I said, patting my stomach. “And the bulgogi was awesome.”

“I’m glad you liked it, honey. Next time I see Mrs. Han, I’ll ask for her recipe. We Calderaros need to lay off the cream sauce anyway. So they treated you well?”

“I guess…,” I said with hesitation.

“What is it, Joseph?”

“They don’t think I’m one of them. Real Korean. I can tell.”

Mom looked at me, long and hard. “You’ve got ‘real’ written all over your beautiful face,” she said, and she kissed my forehead before sending me off to bed.





A Message from St. Louis




Nash was standing at the bottom of my driveway when I headed for the bus stop the next morning. He hadn’t walked to my house before school since we carried dinosaur backpacks and feared the bully with a water gun. Something was up.

“We got an e-mail back on your search,” he said as the bus screeched in the distance. He looked like he was bursting to get this out, but serious, too.

My stomach fluttered. “What’s it say?”

He pulled a paper from his backpack. “Here, read it.”

Joseph,

My name is Jae Park Leonis and I might be able to help you. I’m 27 years old and I grew up in Pusan. I came here to St. Louis five years ago. The date you were found brings back family memories. I found myself scanning this website for that very reason.

Call me.

Jae



I stared at the telephone number printed on the bottom of the e-mail. Nash hovered next to me, anxious to hear what I’d say.

“You think this guy Jae is for real? Maybe he’s trying to rope me into a sucker scam, like ‘Buy this fail-proof adoption search kit for only $49.95.’”

Nash shrugged his shoulders. “He sounds like he’s telling the truth.”

The school bus pulled up and we got on.

“You gonna call him, Joseph?” Nash asked.

“I think so. I mean, what have I got to lose, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Tell me what he says, okay?”

“Definitely.”

“Joseph, what’s the haps, Drummer Boy!” Frankie called as I stepped on the bus.

“Hey dude,” I answered, but I kept walking.

I would phone St. Louis after school today. After all, Jae could be my brother. I just might find something out before writing my revised essay. Talk about a drummer’s lucky timing.

But then why did my palms feel so sweaty?

The world was suddenly spinning fast for a Friday morning. Very fast.



The rest of the day dragged like somebody stuffed an extra five hours in it. How could I concentrate on textbooks when I had a bombshell phone number in my pocket?

Finally I arrived home to a hushed house. Nobody but Frazer chewing away on a bone. Dad was working, Mom was at the shop with Gina, and Sophie had soccer. For the first time in ages, I skipped a snack. I even thought about skipping the phone call—too much pressure. But I silenced Chicken Calderaro. I needed to talk to Jae.

My hands were shaking as I pulled the paper from my pocket and dialed the phone number.

Right away someone answered, but it wasn’t a guy.

“Yes, this is Jae. I’m happy to talk with you, Joseph.” She had a soft voice and an Asian accent, though not as thick as Mrs. Han’s.

In the background I heard a little kid’s voice.

Jae asked how old I was, where I lived, what grade I was in, and even what my hobbies were. I felt like she was one of those mall walkers with a clipboard doing consumer research.