“When do you want to see Wansu?”

“Soon. I might lose my courage if we wait much longer.”

“Let me change, then.” I go upstairs and trade my sweats for the last of my new clothes, a pumpkin-colored oversize apron dress tied at the back with a thin string that dangles down to my waist. When I look presentable, I shoot off a text to Yujun.

ME: My mom would like to meet Wansu. I’d text Wansu but I don’t have her number.

Yujun replies instantly.

YUJUN: I’ll come and get you.

ME: No please. We’ll take a taxi

Dots appear and then disappear and then appear again, only for me to suffer what feels like a long period of silence, but it is only a couple of minutes. Finally a response comes through.

YUJUN: Ok will see you soon. Choi Wansu will want to eat with you. What kind of food does your mother like?

I hesitate because my first instinct was to say we’d eat Korean but Mom has had a long flight and this meal might be challenging to get through. It’s better she have something familiar.

ME: Italian

YUJUN: We will eat at Rubrica at the Westin Hotel. Very good. Your mother will like. Is it okay if we meet at the office and go together to the hotel?

ME: Sounds perfect

Downstairs, I tell her the plan. “Sorry, we have to walk to catch the cab.”

“It’s fine, Hara. I need the exercise.” She pats her stomach. “What’s Wansu like?”

“Imposing.”

“Really?” Ellen’s eyebrows shoot upward. “I wouldn’t have assumed that, although her emails were always very short. I assumed she didn’t know much English, though.”

“She speaks it perfectly.” I stop at the gate. “Wait, do you not know what she does?”

Ellen’s brow furrows. “She said she worked for her husband’s company doing administrative work.”

“She’s the CEO.”

Mom’s jaw drops. “The CEO?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it a workday? We should call her? Or maybe wait?” Ellen’s flustered state rouses my protective instincts.

“No. She’ll see us.” I tuck Mom’s hand into the crook of my elbow. Not for the first time, I note how fragile it feels. She’s getting older. Is this how I want to spend my time? Being angry with the woman who loved and raised me all of my years. It’s a question I asked myself all night. I’m still mad but I resolve to be less of a bitch. We settle into a taxi, and after I show the driver a photo of the IF Group address, he takes off.

“Where are your pictures?” Mom makes a give me gesture with her fingers pointed up and it catches me off guard because for nearly two weeks all I’ve seen is people making the same motion with the same meaning but with their fingers pointed down.

“I lost my phone. Didn’t I text you that? I haven’t downloaded the old ones onto my new phone yet.”

“Oh, that’s right. I hope it wasn’t too expensive. Did you have phone insurance? They say that’s a scam, you know, but it sounds like you could’ve used it.”