Jason trails behind me, a coat wrapped tight around his slim shoulders and collar popped, a pair of aviators perched on his nose—probably to look cool, as I’m not sure the glare from the sun reflecting off the thin layer of snow that fell last night necessitates sunglasses.
A sharp breeze blows in from the ocean, stealing my breath, and I shudder. Let’s be clear: I’m a Southern girl; I don’t do cold. And, unfortunately, it’s been an unusually chilly December so far.
“Why is it so cold here?” I say through clenched teeth.
Sophie laughs, throwing her arms out to each side. “It’s refreshing.”
“For you, maybe,” I mutter.
The driver exits the car, not the usual one who takes Jason to and from Incheon. This man has gray-streaked hair and a pressed black suit, and he wears a somber expression befitting a stern grandfather. Or a CIA agent.
Sophie squeals and runs around the front of the car to throw her arms around the man. A smile cracks his serious façade, and they greet each other in Korean.
Jason opens the trunk and fills it with all our bags before we pile into the car.
Sophie sits in the passenger seat, though judging by the driver’s disapproving frown, she’s not supposed to. But he pulls away from the curb, and we’re speeding down the mountain, through town, and across the bridge.
Sophie turns around in her seat. “Grace, I want to introduce you to the wonderful Young Jo, our family’s driver.”
“Hello, Miss Grace.” He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and nods his head, stone-faced.
“Hi!” I wave at him and receive a tiny smile in response, which I take as a victory.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Sophie gushes. “I’m so glad you came with us.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
But my chest tightens when I remember the last conversation I had with Momma on the phone. She called again yesterday, and we ended the conversation basically screaming at each other. I’ve never openly defied her, and I don’t think either of us knows how to respond now. But it’s done. Might as well enjoy myself.
Once through Incheon, Young Jo speeds us down the highway toward Seoul. Sophie babbles on about all the stuff she wants to do with me before we have to go back to school, but I only half listen, my nose plastered to the window.
A light snow begins to fall, and the industrial factories and long stretches of coastline transform into taillights and skyscrapers. I soak up the view with wide eyes, my pulse skipping through my veins.
My excitement grows bigger each second, seeing the crowded hubbub of activity, with people everywhere. Businessmen in suits. Kids heading home from school. Teenagers catching the bus. Coffee shops on every corner—literally.
People walk faster here than on Ganghwa Island. They wear sleeker clothes and hold briefcases. A pack of women hurry down the sidewalk in their sky-high heels, all wearing matching gray pencil skirts and blazers.
We drive over a bridge, and beneath is a long canal cutting through the heart of the city, wide sidewalks on either side of the water. We stop at a red light, and I peer down at the river walk, watching a couple stroll hand in hand.
Jason slips off his sunglasses. “So, what do you think?”
“It reminds me of New York City. It’s huge. And … fashionable.”
He nods. “Seoul is really Western, so I think you’ll like it.”
“Are you implying that I don’t like non-Western places?”
He grins. “Well, you’re not exactly known for your cultural sensitivity.”
I laugh. “Okay, you got me there. I was totally crazy and judgmental. But I’m working on it!”
Young Jo takes us out of the downtown part of the city into a more secluded neighborhood with quieter streets and more residential buildings. We pull up to a two-story white house that’s been built into the side of a hill and pass through a gate. Young Jo parks in front of a path that climbs up the hill to a porch which I suspect is the route to the front door. He helps us get all our luggage out and carts Sophie’s and my suitcases up the path.
We climb the stairs onto the porch, and I follow behind Sophie as she pushes open the door.
“Omma!” she cries, kicking off her shoes in the entryway and sliding on a pair of slippers before rushing into the living room.
The plush room has a modern theme, with white walls and carpet, square wooden shelves that divide the room from the kitchen, and a black couch that looks too angular to be comfortable. Sophie sits beside a woman on the sofa, and a sudden batch of nerves twists in my stomach at the sight.
Sophie and Jason’s mom sports a Chanel dress I saw online a few months ago that probably costs more than half my wardrobe. But while all the women I have experience with who wear these kinds of dresses are anything but maternal, Ms. Bae oozes warmth.
The way a mother should.
She looks up when I enter with Jason, and a smile spreads across her face. Getting to her feet, she holds her arms out for her son and says, “Hyun Jun-ah.”
He hugs her. “Hi, Mom.”
“And this is Grace?” Ms. Bae directs her smile at me.
I drop in a bow. “Thank you so much for allowing me into your home.”
“You’re welcome,” she says in perfect English.
“Mom, Grace is the best roommate ever,” Sophie says. “I even think Jason likes her.”
Jason’s face wipes of all expression, though the slight reddening of his cheeks betrays him. Ms. Bae just laughs.