Kimchi & Calamari (12 page)

S
aturday night turned out to be a pizza-and-movie date at my house for me, Frazer, and two beautiful young women. Unfortunately, they were my sisters snuggling on the couch in matching Little Mermaid pajamas. Earlier Dad had returned from the college, swinging his cast merrily and talking nonstop about an American literature major. Mom decided this called for a night out, and arranged a double date with Aunt Foxy and her boyfriend.

I agreed to babysit for my sisters without a protest. I figured if Mom and Dad returned home from a rockin'
good time, our talk might go better.

So Gina and Sophie and I watched
The Return of the Jedi
, my favorite of the Star Wars movies. We watched part of it, anyway. Gina fell asleep after ten minutes. Sophie hung in longer, but by the time Jabba the Hutt's sail barge blew up, she was snoring too. After I had carried them upstairs, one at a time, Mom and Dad's key turned in the door.

“What a love story.” Mom flung her purse in the closet and kicked off her spiky heels. “I swear if I weren't hitched to your father, I'd track down that blond hottie, whatshisname.”

Mom and Dad went into the family room. I heard them talking about Aunt Foxy.

“Did you notice how Dominick helped Foxy put her shawl on? That's a good sign. Seeing Foxy with a decent guy helps me sleep at night,” Mom said.

Dad was already stretched out on the couch, buried behind the newspaper. Mom was snuggled beside him.

“I need to talk,” I blurted out, looking from Mom to Dad. They raised their eyebrows nervously, like they were afraid that I'd messed up in school again.

Dad got up from the couch. “Let's go in the living room.” He put his hand on Mom's back and led us there.

The last time we spoke in the living room was when
Dad gave me the “what-makes-boys-boys” spiel. He must have known this was serious.

I took a deep breath and told them everything. Dad's arms were folded over his chest; Mom's knees were crossed.

“I think Hea is my birth mother. Jae does too, but she says we should check this out with the adoption agency—just to be sure. Then she'll talk with her aunt. So…I need your help.”

Dad swallowed. Mom kept nodding her head.

I shut my mouth and waited.

Mom spoke first. “Of course we'll help. We know how much this means to you, Joseph. Right, honey?” She squeezed Dad's hand.

Silence. The tick-tock of the hallway clock gave me something to concentrate on.

Finally Dad opened his mouth. “Have you thought this through, Joseph? About the search, what it means?”

I nodded.

“I understand being curious about your birth mother and where you come from, that's natural. I just think it's too soon to be doing this. You're only fourteen.”

“Fourteen isn't four, Dad. I found this out all by myself so far.”

“He can handle it, Vinny. Joseph needs to do this.”

Mom was like a human bridge trying to connect Dad and me. But Dad kept shaking his head—not angry, because the Mad Meter wasn't running, but not ready to join my search party either. Yet I could tell he was trying, in his Dadish way, to understand.

“It's like you starting college, Dad, after all these years. You said you made decent money with the business, right? But that wasn't enough. There was more to you than just washing windows. Well, it's the same with me.”

Dad rubbed his fingers slowly over the top of his cast. Then his eyes met mine, and I knew: he'd help.

“Maybe we can call the adoption agency on Monday,” he said softly.

I felt relieved, like someone had taken an elephant off my back.

Mom's eye shadow sparkled and her whole face lit up. “I'm off on Monday. I'll call.” Sure, she'd do the leg-work, but this was the most involved Dad had ever been.

I told them how Jae said her aunt gave birth close to my birthday, right there in Pusan, and how the baby disappeared and was never mentioned again. And I wrote down Jae's phone number for Mom, in case the adoption agency needed to contact her directly.

“Guess what? Hea has a brother with my Korean
name, Duk-kee. I was probably named after him.”

“Or maybe there are thousands of Duk-kee's running around Pusan,” Dad added, “like all the Giovannis in Sicily.”

Mom frowned at him. “Will you please try to be positive?”

“She's my birth mother. I know it,” I said, purposely not looking at Mom. I just couldn't.

“Are they Christian, Joseph?” she asked. “Remember how I told you that the note from your birth mother asked that you be placed with a Christian family?”

“I think so.” Actually, I'd forgotten to ask Jae that. But a gut feeling told me this would match up too, just like everything else Jae had said. Like the stars and planets on Mom's astrology charts when things were meant to be.

The clock chimed. Midnight. Mom yawned. We got up and headed upstairs.

“Joseph?” Dad called when I reached the top step.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Doesn't matter if they're Korean, Italian, or Swahili—families are never perfect. Whatever you find, it's okay. You're my boy.” He looked choked up.

“Don't worry,” I said, and inside I felt happy that Dad was thinking about me that way. And that my parents
and I were finally in this together.

“Go to bed, Mr. Tough Guy,” Dad said, and he took Mom's hand as they walked toward their room.

 

I woke Monday morning even before Spider-Man zapped me with his danger alarm. My head felt like a two-lane highway with thoughts whizzing in opposite directions: first on contacting Hea after Mom spoke with the agency, and second on making plans for the Farewell Formal. Time was running out. I had to bite the bullet and ask Robyn. And I'd promised Nash that I'd get Dad to write the note for Ok-hee.

I laughed out loud as I ran downstairs. Nash and I were both hot on the trail of Korean women.

Dad was already in the kitchen, ready for work, when I walked in and stuck a Pop-Tart in the toaster. He'd hired a college student to help with business until he got the cast off, even though he said he'd still be working in a “limited way.” How he'd limit himself as a window washer, I don't know, but he promised Mom he'd be careful.

He poured coffee into his Yankees mug. “You're up early, son.”

“Today's a big day.”

Dad nodded and sat down in front of his breakfast.

I grabbed my Pop-Tart from the toaster, and a pen
and pad from the kitchen drawer and sat next to him.

“Would you translate a letter into Italian, Dad?” Sometimes Nonno Calderaro still talked to Dad in Italian, especially when he was excited, so I knew he could.

“My spelling isn't so hot, but I could try. What's it for?”

“Nash wants to ask a girl to the Farewell Formal. We think writing a note in Italian might get her to say yes.”

Dad reached for the pen and pad. “Good thing I didn't break my right arm. Go ahead, I'm ready for dictation, Caruso.”

“Who's Caruso?” I bit into my Pop-Tart. Ouch, the filling burned my tongue.

“Only the greatest Italian tenor of all time. He was born in Naples. Talk about someone who had a way with the ladies.”

I unfolded Nash's scribbled note and read it out loud:

“Ok-hee doesn't sound like an Italian name,” Dad said between bites of his bagel.

“It's Ok-hee Han. The Hans who bought the Jiffy Wash, remember?”

“The Korean family—where you had dinner?”

I nodded.

“This could only happen in New Jersey.”

I felt goofy, sitting in the kitchen reading Nash's words to Dad, but I could tell he enjoyed playing Italian translator. Besides, what other choice did I have? Asking Mom to write the note would've been even more embarrassing, because then all the ladies in the shop would hear about it. And the only Italian my sisters knew were the swear words Mom yells when we're in trouble.

Dad scribbled it all down and slid the notepad over to me. “Tell Pete he's got the heart and soul of a romantic. Now who are you asking?”

“Robyn Carleton. She plays flute. And no, she doesn't read Italian.”

He stood up and brought his dishes to the sink. “A girl with the gift of music. I like her already. Do you have any tricks up your sleeve to get her to say yes?”

“Nope. I'm just going to ask her. Straight up.”

“Attaboy, Joseph,” Dad said, picking up his keys. “Well, I better get going. We've got an apartment complex
scheduled in Passaic today with lots of windows.”

Then he paused. “Mom's going to call the agency for you later. Hopefully we'll get some answers.”

He put on his Calderaro Window Washers cap and headed for the door. “Good luck today, Joseph.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You take it easy.” But I couldn't help wondering—did he mean good luck with the adoption agency, or with Robyn?

T
he air felt soupy as I ran up the driveway after school that afternoon. Gina and Sophie were running through the sprinkler on the front lawn. Frazer lay on the soggy grass nearby with his tongue hanging out.

Nash had stayed after school, so I didn't know whether he'd given Ok-hee the note. And I hadn't seen Robyn all day, so I didn't get to ask her to the dance. But Mom always comes through when she makes a promise, and I was bursting to hear what the agency told her.

“Mommy's been on the phone talking about you,” Gina shouted. The sprinkler gushed water into her face as she spoke.

I blew past her excitedly, my backpack banging up and down.

“What did they say?” I called as I charged into the kitchen.

Mom's face was flushed. She didn't answer, but she crossed her arms across her tank top and looked down at the kitchen floor.

“Did you call the agency?” I asked.

“Have some lemonade before we talk,” she said.

Years ago, before we got Frazer, I had a pet hamster named Billybob. One day while I was at school, Mom found Billybob balled up stiff in the corner of the cage. That moment Mom had the same expression as when Billybob died.

“Tell me.” I wiped my forehead.

Mom sat in a kitchen chair, but I kept standing, leaning against the fridge and tapping my foot. And not like I was playing the timpani for fun either.

“I'm sorry, Joseph. Hea can't be your birth mother. I called Jae today, before I called the adoption agency. To check on her aunt's religion. It turns out Hea isn't
Christian like your birth mother.”

I swallowed hard. “So what? The agency could've made a mistake.”

Mom shook her head. “I talked to the social worker, too. She checked the files.”

“She doesn't know what she's talking about!” I pounded my fist against the fridge. Magnets and papers went flying.

“No, honey. We got you earlier than expected because the agency honored your birth mother's wish. And the social worker told me that in all likelihood your mother didn't live in Pusan like Hea. She said it was common for mothers from surrounding villages to leave their babies in the city.”

“You
wanted
this to happen. You didn't want me to know!” I screamed, my whole body quivering.

“No, Joseph! God no!” Mom started crying.

I cried too, heavy, like a dam unleashed. Mom rushed over and put her arms around me, but I pushed her back.

“Leave me alone!” I growled like a wounded dog.

I pushed the patio screen door open and ran out to the backyard. Past Mom's flowers, past Dad's tomato plants, way back to the shade of the willow tree. I sank down into the coolness of the grass, my head between
my knees so no one would see my tears. But Mom followed and sat down next to me. She wrapped her arms across my shoulders and patted my back.

I cried so hard I started hiccupping. Mom kept holding me, wiping back my hair and tears with her purple fingernails.

“How could she just dump me like a bag of trash?” I wailed. “I hate her!” And I did. I hated my birth mother and all the real Koreans. All their faces merged into a kaleidoscope of tears and scowls and empty bassinets.

“I'm sure she loved you, Joseph. She probably felt so frightened, being young, unmarried, and pregnant.” Mascara ran down her cheeks. “I know she thinks of you all the time, every single day.”

“I came so close to finding her.”

“I know this feels awful, but even if you don't find your birth mother—or at least not now—you
will
find out more about who you are. And this time your father and I will help. We promise.”

The back gate swung open. “Mr. Twistee is coming down the street, Mom! Can we get ice cream?” Sophie shouted. Gina stood next to her with water dripping from her bikini.

I pulled away from Mom.

“Take some coins from the lunch money jar and leave
us alone,” Mom said firmly.

“Why's Joseph crying?” Gina asked.

I didn't stick around for the answer. I leaped toward the house. As I passed Mom's flowers, I pointed at Saint Joseph's concrete chin.

“It's all your fault!” I shouted.

 

“Phone, Joseph!” Gina yelled outside my bedroom door, later that evening.

“Go away.”

“But it's a girl. You always talk when girls call.”

“I don't care if it's a supermodel. Buzz off.”

Close to dinnertime came another knock. “Come eat something, sweetie,” Mom said softly.

I kept the door locked and my eyes staring up at Pegasus on the ceiling, though it was harder to make out the stars during daytime.

Finally I dozed off. When I woke, my Spidey clock flashed 7:52. The sun was setting, and I heard two fists banging from the hallway.

“You gotta let us in, Joseph,” Gina pleaded. “We've got three ice-cream sandwiches and a can of root beer we snuck out of the kitchen while Mommy and Daddy went for a walk. If they come home and catch us up here with this stuff, we're dead meat.”

“And the ice cream is melting!” Sophie added.

I let them in. They wouldn't care that I had puffy red eyes.

The three of us sat by the foot of my bed in silence, eating drippy ice-cream sandwiches and taking turns gulping the soda. I took a long sip and passed the root beer to Sophie.

“Aren't you going to say, ‘No backwash' like you always do?” she asked.

I shook my head. I still wasn't up for talking.

“It's because he's got hurt feelings,” Gina said, patting me on the arm with her sticky fingers. “Mom told us everything.”

“Told you what?”

“About your birth mother being missing.”

“She's not missing, Gina. It's more like she's hiding.” Why was I discussing this with two clueless second graders?

“That makes us really mad!” Sophie shouted.

“Why are
you
guys mad?”

“Your birth mother is
not
nice!” Gina agreed, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “She's wicked like the evil queen in
Snow White
.”

“No, she's not. You just don't get it.” I shook my head, but for some strange reason, I suddenly felt a little better.

“Joseph's right, Gina. We shouldn't be mad at his birth mother. I'm glad she let Mommy and Daddy have him because otherwise he wouldn't be in the same family. He wouldn't be our brother.” Sophie flashed those big brown eyes of hers. She looked so innocent that I felt guilty for all the times I swore she was possessed.

Gina licked her fingers. “You're wrong, Sophie. Joseph would always be our brother. It's just his birth mother would be our mom.”

“Then who would Mommy be?” Sophie asked, totally confused.

“She'd be your hairdresser,” I said, fighting back a laugh.