“You live in Seoul, so I assume you ignored them?”
Jihoon kicks a small pebble out of the way. “When I left, there was much drama. My mother refused to speak to me for a year. My father told me how disappointed he was in my choice every time I called home.”
“You stuck with it, though.”
“I did.” Jihoon takes off his hat and runs his hand through his hair. “It was hard, but I knew what I wanted. I made some friends and began to learn what I needed to know.”
“How do your parents feel now?”
He laughs. “I made a career for myself, but my field has high turnover. They still think I should have taken a government job.”
This makes me laugh, too. “Parents.”
“You can’t do anything for your father now. You have nothing to feel guilty for.”
“Yet I do.” It’s about eleven now, and the warm night combined with our solitude makes me more open than I would normally be.
Jihoon touches our shoulders together. “Hearts are strange things. They never do what you wish. Never take the easy path.”
“No. Let’s cut them out as sacrifices to the god of doing the right thing.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I’d take the heart and its twists and turns over feeling nothing, though. Wouldn’t you?”
I think of my role model, Meredith, who would rather die than express an emotion. Before I need to answer, we emerge onto a busy street and get crowded to the side as we pass groups of laughing people barhopping.
We head east, but I’m distracted by my companion, who has started walking with his face pointed at the ground. All I can see is the brim of his hat. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, an impressive feat given how tight his pants are, and his shoulders are pulled inward as if he’s trying to look smaller. It’s how I’d expect someone in a witness protection program to navigate the world.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“What?” He swivels his head up and promptly walks into a fence that partly blocks the sidewalk. I do my best not to laugh, but his expression as he warily eyes the area for more obstacles is priceless.
“You look a little anxious.”
This makes him look more anxious. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.” We keep walking—me normally, him not. I wonder if Hana’s been completely honest about his sudden departure from Seoul. Maybe it wasn’t a breakup but something more exciting like running from the mob with rows of diamonds and cocaine sewn into his very fitted jeans.
Clearly preposterous, Ari.
But…he did arrive suddenly. Very suddenly.
“The other day I learned the strangest thing. There’s a mobster museum in Las Vegas.” I watch him carefully, but he doesn’t react to the wordmobster.
“There is?”
“I bet there might be one for jopok somewhere. Or the triads or yakuza. The Mafia.” I dangle every organized crime name I know like candy.
No change of expression except slight interest as he stops at a window display of artisanal cheeses. Then he gives me a conspiratorial look. “Did you know that one man rules Seoul’s underworld? They say he’s too young to manage it, but he has the city under his thumb. He disappeared recently. The city is in turmoil because all the gangs are turning on each other.”
“What?” I stare at him.
“He’s said to be as witty as he is brilliant. Well-dressed. Charmingly handsome, especially with black hair.”
“Very funny.”
I feel myself go red, but then he gives me an exaggeratedly wicked wink, exactly as a sleazy rich son would give before climbing into aLambo, and it makes me laugh. He looks pleased with himself. “I’m only a man who needed a change.”
He sniffs the air as we pass a burrito food truck. “Hungry?” I ask, to change the topic. “I like this place.”
