I glanced down at Angela.
“We have nothing to be sorry for,” I directed my comment to my mother.
She pursed her lips but didn’t respond. My gaze slowly left her and I pulled my chair out and sat.
“Everything looks and smells great, sweetie,” my father commented.
“You did a wonderful job, Mrs. Kim,” Lisa interjected, not letting anyone forget her presence. “Eric, is pork bulgogi still one of your favorites?” she asked, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” I replied, then turned my attention back to the table.
My father was right; the food looked delicious. My mother often made traditional Korean dishes for my father’s birthday dinners, and this year for his fifty-ninth was no different. In the middle of the table sat dishes filled with mixed seafood stew, pork bulgogi, kimchi, and more.
“I hope you’re not one of those women who doesn’t eat pork. Or insists on eating a little because you’re watching your figure.”
“Ma!” I called, not liking the tone of her voice.
“It’s okay.” Angela wrapped her hand around mine under the table. “No, Mrs. Kim, I do eat pork, and everything looks so good, I wouldn’t dream of insulting the chef by not eating.” Angela gave her a warm smile, one that was only minimally returned by my mother.
“Thank God for small miracles,” Lisa mumbled but not low enough, looking toward my mother.
“What did you j?”
My response to her was stopped by a squeeze at my thigh from Angela’s hand. My grandmother suddenly spoke up and began telling my father a happy birthday and how proud she was of him. She spoke in Korean, and I translated for Angela so she wouldn’t feel left out. I didn’t want her being the only one at the table who didn’t know what was being said since Lisa also spoke Korean. My grandmother talked about how my father had become the embodiment of the dream she and my grandfather had when they came over from Korea all those years ago. My grandfather wanted to come to the U.S. for school, bringing his young bride with him. They had my father a few years after arriving in the U.S. They made a way for themselves, and my father lived up to all their hopes and dreams. It was the same speech my grandmother gave every year on my father’s birthday, but it never failed to make him just a tad bit emotional.
When my grandmother finished, my father reached across the table, patting her hand and telling her in Korean how much he loved her.
“And thank you to my lovely wife for this beautiful dinner. And my son and his new, friend, Angela, for coming to celebrate with us. And you Lisa,” he added.
We began spooning food onto our plates and in bowls. As usual, the food was great. Mom had made the kimchi with just a slight bit of spice to it. My father wasn’t a fan of spicy food, despite how common it was in many Korean dishes. My father discussed the happenings at his job, often looking pointedly at me. He mentioned that he was thinking of retiring in the next few years. I knew he wished I still worked with him, but that was one birthday present I couldn’t give him. For her part, Lisa kept interjecting with stories from our childhood, trying to jog some emotion from me, I guessed. It served to annoy the hell out of me more than anything. Lisa and I grew up in the same Korean community in Williamsport, but we weren’t close as children, and in reality only dated because it was something both our parents wanted. We weren’t compatible?I saw that as soon as I stopped living for my parents and started living for myself.
Toward the end of the meal, my mother stood. “I hope you all left room for dessert.”
“I can help bring it out, Mrs. Kim,” Angela began, placing her cloth napkin on the table, readying herself to stand.
“No, Lisa will help,” my mother tossed back, moving into the kitchen without a backward glance.
That was the last straw.
“You sit down,” I pointed at Lisa. My voice held a hard edge, daring her to defy me. Lucky for her, she didn’t. I patted Angela’s hand and got up, pushing through the swinging door to follow my mother into the kitchen.
“Ma, what was all that about?”
“All what?” She had the nerve to look at me with a confused expression.
“Ma, you know what. Why are you so rude to Angela? Why is Lisa here?”
“I’m not being rude. I just told her I didn’t need her assistance. And Lisa is a friend of the family.”
“Who conveniently pops by after years of not seeing her?”
“She was back in town,” my mother argued.
“I’m sure. Angela has been nothing but be respectful and polite since we arrived and you’ve given her the cold shoulder.”
“I have not. I’ve just been preoccupied with getting your father’s dinner prepared and out on the table.”
“And the comment about her eating pork or watching her weight?”
