Though I should clarify—no pressure. Just happy to see you. However, you want to spend our time together, I’ll be okay with it.
“See?” Demi points at the screen triumphantly. “Playful but respectful. The man understands boundaries.”
Me
Sorry about Demi. She’s been mixing drinks and apparently thinks she’s my relationship manager now.
Aaron
If she continues to be my unofficial wing woman, I’m okay with it.
“I like him,” Demi declares, reading over my shoulder. “He gets the joke but still makes sure you’re comfortable. Unlike William, who’d be sulking if I sent a text like that from your phone.”
My phone lights up with my mother’s face, the ringtone cutting through our laughter.
“Hold on,” I say to Demi, swiping to answer. “Annyeonghaseyo, Umma.”
“Minji-ah.” My mother’s voice carries that particular tone of disappointment only mothers have perfected. “Three messages about Chuseok and nothing from you.”
Across from me, Demi’s eyebrows shoot up as she hits pause on the remote. She mouths “uh-oh” with exaggerated sympathy.
“The Hui-Wang case has me working overtime,” I explain, my Korean flowing easier than English now. “I might not be able to fly home this year.”
“Always work.” She sighs, and I can picture her shaking her head. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I know, Umma. But this case could mean partnership.” The Seoul office remains my secret—no point raising hopes until I’ve beaten William for the position.
“Partnership, partnership,” she mimics, though not unkindly. “What good is success if you have no one to share it with?”
Demi, who understands just enough Korean, raises her eyebrows at me. I shoot her a warning glare.
“I’m not alone, Umma. I have friends.” I gesture at Demi, who waves at the phone as if my mother could see her.
Demi leans toward the phone, her voice rising to a sing-song pitch. “Annyeonghaseyo, Mrs. Lee! Your daughter finished half the soju bottle already!”
“Demetria!” My mother’s voice warms instantly, like she’s greeting her favorite child. “You’re still watching over my Minji?”
“Someone has to,” Demi switches back to speaking English. “Though lately she’s been grinning at her phone every five minutes. It’s honestly creepy.”
I lunge across the couch to silence her, but she twists away, nearly spilling her wine.
“Grinning?” My mother’s interest piqued through the speaker. “My daughter doesn’t grin.”
“It’s nothing,” I cut in, glaring at Demi. “The cases I’m dealing with at work are going well, that’s all.”
“She’s seeing someone,” Demi blurts, her loyalty to gossip trumping her loyalty to me. “He’s gorgeous and worships the ground she walks on.”
“A man?” My mother practically squeals, and I can hear her calling to my stepfather in the background. “Minji has a boyfriend!”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I protest, feeling my cheeks burn. “We’re seeing each other.”
“Korean?” she asks, the single word loaded with a lifetime of expectations.
“African American.”
“Perfect! You won’t have some Korean mother criticizing your kimchi or expecting you to do all the housework while her precious son puts his feet up. That’s how it was with your father’s mother. Anyway, does this man make you happy?”
Demi chokes on her wine, eyes widening at my mother’s reaction.
