“What’s she saying?” I ask as we run toward the stairs.

“She denies everything,” Jules half yells.

There are more angry words hurled toward us, along with two more spoons. Something wet and sticky strikes my head. I take the stairs two at a time, passing up Jules. We escape the market and burst out into the sunshine of the outdoor alley, panting.

Jules places her palms on her knees. “I think your dad wasn’t a great guy.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, pulling a noodle out of my hair, and sniff. Shrimp-flavored ramyeon? The worst. I toss the noodle aside in disgust.

“She said your dad was a pig and a lot of other curse words that I don’t have a translation for but basically she hopes that the root of his tree withered from poison. I don’t know if she meant you or his dick,” Jules offers unhelpfully.

“Thanks.” I pick out more noodles.

“Who else is left on your list?” Jules comes to my side.

“I have one other name that I can fully make out. Kwon Hyeun.” I take out my phone and show Jules. “My friend Boyoung was going to a government office and looking in a registry but apparently she hasn’t found anything.” I shake my phone, wishing that a text would appear like a message in the window of a Magic 8-Ball before putting it away and going back to combing through my hair.

“Yeah, the family registry would be helpful. We could do that.”

“We could?” I stop fussing with my damp strands. That I smell like watered-down fish starch doesn’t matter much with this new information.

“Well, I can’t promise anything, but a big university here has been collecting family registries and putting them in a computer database. We need to find your dad living in the same ward as one Kwon Hyeun.”

“Wouldn’t Boyoung be doing this?”

“Dunno. Maybe she doesn’t know about it. I only know because the president of the university was on a flight that I worked a couple of months ago asking for money from one of the chaebols who owns a private jet.”

“Let’s go.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The university database yields two results. This is it, I think. One of these addresses is where my mother lives.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Jules cautions as we make our way to the subway station.

“Of course not,” I reply, but we both know that I’m lying. It has to be. If not, I’m left with two blurred photos with no legible names on the back. One of these addresses is for Kwon Hyeun and she’s my mother. There’s a pull inside me, as if the magnet has been activated.

“Since both places are across the river, we might as well take the subway. The bridges are always overcrowded. It’ll take longer by cab,” Jules suggests. I don’t argue. I’m running low on money.

The first address is right off the subway. Jules runs into a coworker in the terminal. The two talk for a short bit. Jules tells me that even though there are ten million people in Seoul and it seems big, the city is actually small. Everyone’s connected. Jules’s sudden talkativeness is slightly unnerving because if the usually cold girl is consoling me, my prospects for the mother hunt must be dim. I reject that line of thinking. This is the one. Kwon Hyeun is the one.