Kimchi & Calamari(43)

“I’m sorry, Joseph. Hea can’t be your birth mother. I called Jae today, before I called the adoption agency. To check on her aunt’s religion. It turns out Hea isn’t Christian like your birth mother.”

I swallowed hard. “So what? The agency could’ve made a mistake.”

Mom shook her head. “I talked to the social worker, too. She checked the files.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” I pounded my fist against the fridge. Magnets and papers went flying.

“No, honey. We got you earlier than expected because the agency honored your birth mother’s wish. And the social worker told me that in all likelihood your mother didn’t live in Pusan like Hea. She said it was common for mothers from surrounding villages to leave their babies in the city.”

“You wanted this to happen. You didn’t want me to know!” I screamed, my whole body quivering.

“No, Joseph! God no!” Mom started crying.

I cried too, heavy, like a dam unleashed. Mom rushed over and put her arms around me, but I pushed her back.

“Leave me alone!” I growled like a wounded dog.

I pushed the patio screen door open and ran out to the backyard. Past Mom’s flowers, past Dad’s tomato plants, way back to the shade of the willow tree. I sank down into the coolness of the grass, my head between my knees so no one would see my tears. But Mom followed and sat down next to me. She wrapped her arms across my shoulders and patted my back.

I cried so hard I started hiccupping. Mom kept holding me, wiping back my hair and tears with her purple fingernails.

“How could she just dump me like a bag of trash?” I wailed. “I hate her!” And I did. I hated my birth mother and all the real Koreans. All their faces merged into a kaleidoscope of tears and scowls and empty bassinets.

“I’m sure she loved you, Joseph. She probably felt so frightened, being young, unmarried, and pregnant.” Mascara ran down her cheeks. “I know she thinks of you all the time, every single day.”

“I came so close to finding her.”

“I know this feels awful, but even if you don’t find your birth mother—or at least not now—you will find out more about who you are. And this time your father and I will help. We promise.”

The back gate swung open. “Mr. Twistee is coming down the street, Mom! Can we get ice cream?” Sophie shouted. Gina stood next to her with water dripping from her bikini.

I pulled away from Mom.

“Take some coins from the lunch money jar and leave us alone,” Mom said firmly.

“Why’s Joseph crying?” Gina asked.

I didn’t stick around for the answer. I leaped toward the house. As I passed Mom’s flowers, I pointed at Saint Joseph’s concrete chin.

“It’s all your fault!” I shouted.



“Phone, Joseph!” Gina yelled outside my bedroom door, later that evening.

“Go away.”

“But it’s a girl. You always talk when girls call.”

“I don’t care if it’s a supermodel. Buzz off.”

Close to dinnertime came another knock. “Come eat something, sweetie,” Mom said softly.

I kept the door locked and my eyes staring up at Pegasus on the ceiling, though it was harder to make out the stars during daytime.

Finally I dozed off. When I woke, my Spidey clock flashed 7:52. The sun was setting, and I heard two fists banging from the hallway.

“You gotta let us in, Joseph,” Gina pleaded. “We’ve got three ice-cream sandwiches and a can of root beer we snuck out of the kitchen while Mommy and Daddy went for a walk. If they come home and catch us up here with this stuff, we’re dead meat.”

“And the ice cream is melting!” Sophie added.

I let them in. They wouldn’t care that I had puffy red eyes.

The three of us sat by the foot of my bed in silence, eating drippy ice-cream sandwiches and taking turns gulping the soda. I took a long sip and passed the root beer to Sophie.

“Aren’t you going to say, ‘No backwash’ like you always do?” she asked.

I shook my head. I still wasn’t up for talking.

“It’s because he’s got hurt feelings,” Gina said, patting me on the arm with her sticky fingers. “Mom told us everything.”

“Told you what?”

“About your birth mother being missing.”

“She’s not missing, Gina. It’s more like she’s hiding.” Why was I discussing this with two clueless second graders?

“That makes us really mad!” Sophie shouted.

“Why are you guys mad?”

“Your birth mother is not nice!” Gina agreed, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “She’s wicked like the evil queen in Snow White.”