Hi, Celeste. This is Gemma. I heard we’re bringing you into this project. Unfortunately, I’m also attached to it. It’s understandable if you don’t want to work with me. Let us know and we’ll make changes.

Best,

Gem

I’m about to hit send when, last minute, I add the last “ma” to the end of my name. “Gem” is what Celeste called me when we were dating. It’s also what she called me last night.

Old habits only die when you kill them with force.

During lunch, I get a text from Mom. Since she prefers phone calls, she and I don’t usually text, and especially not during work hours. But when I read the notification, I realize I haven’t talked to my parents since I first told them about my breakup with James.

I can sense all her concerns, fears, and love in the three words she sends.

Have you eaten?

We’re so Korean sometimes, it hurts. In our culture, food is absolutely a love language, and it’s deeply ingrained in our history and how people often went hungry as war tore the land apart. My parents rarely ask me how I’m feeling, but they always ask me if I’ve eaten my meals.

All things considered, I’m glad. “Have you eaten?” is a much easier question to answer than “Are you okay?” I wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to respond to the latter.

I’m about to, I reply. And then in a second message I add, Thanks. I’ll come home for Thanksgiving.

She sends me back a big, red heart, and I do a quick search of flights from SFO to SNA. Since it’s a smaller airport, flights to John Wayne are often pricey and limited, especially during the holidays. But I definitely do not want to ask my sixty-something parents to drive for over an hour in heavy traffic to pick me up from LAX.

The last time I visited my parents was in September for Chuseok, the Korean Mid-Autumn Festival. James and I flew down together. Even then, I had no idea I’d be coming home again so soon, on Thanksgiving, since for the last seven years, James and I always drove down to San Jose to celebrate the holiday with his family.

While my parents do a simple but still delicious meal whenever we celebrate the holidays together, the Mathesons always threw extravagant parties in their mansion with tons of relatives and acquaintances. Aside from a few of the servers and other staff, I’d often be the only non-white person there, which initially made me uncomfortable. But after the first couple of years, I got used to it, and thankfully, even though we were clearly in very different tax brackets, everyone was usually super nice and sweet.