Sophie turns us down a side street onto a less busy sidewalk, and I’m beginning to wonder if we have some sort of meeting with Korean gangsters. What does this outing have to do with being American?
I’m just about to ask her what’s going on when she turns aside to a building with Hangul lettering written on the glass storefront. I keep close on her heels, and when we walk inside, I’m accosted by a familiar smell. My heart leaps into my throat. This can’t be. Surely not. It’s impossible.
It smells like barbecue!
And I don’t mean Korean barbecue, where you cook your own meat, which is good in its own right.
I’m talking BBQ barbecue.
Good ole Southern, slow-roasted pork in the most heavenly sauce ever invented. It smells like home.
I can’t keep my mouth from pooling with saliva. When was the last time I ate American food? I’ve tried to keep my diet filled with rice and noodles, hoping it would help me transition into the Korean lifestyle. And although I’m really starting to like the food here, I’ve never missed my Momma’s cooking so much in my life.
The host at the front of the restaurant offers us a little bow and lets us pass. Sophie makes a beeline to a back table, where I see two familiar faces. Tae Hwa and Jason both look up as we drop into seats facing them at a white tablecloth–covered table as far away from the window as possible.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, after taking another deep breath of BBQ-flavored air. “Why are we eating American food?”
Jason shoots me a disbelieving look. “It’s Thanksgiving. How could you forget that?”
“I thought we already had Thanksgiving last month. What’s it called? Chuseok.”
I only remember because we got out of school for three days. Sophie tried to explain that it’s a huge holiday over here, which people spend with their families, respecting ancestors and eating lots of traditional food. A lot of students stayed at the school since most of us aren’t actually Korean, but Sophie took me to a traditional Korean restaurant, so I still felt like I got to experience some culture—amazingly fun.
But Jason just stares at me with a bemused expression. “I mean American Thanksgiving.”
“Wait.” I freeze. “Are you serious?”
I whip out my phone and check the calendar. He’s right. Today is Thanksgiving. In roughly fourteen hours, my family will be eating turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes, and pecan pie. Momma will make Jane eat yams before she can have a slice of pumpkin pie, and Dad will watch football all evening.
And I’m sitting at a barbecue place in South Korea. Talk about surreal.
“We thought you might be missing home today,” Sophie says, skimming the menu with a wrinkled nose, “so we planned to take you out. An old American man owns this place. He stayed after the Korean War. Had we known you didn’t even remember what day it is, we would have gone someplace better than this.”
Jason leans across the table toward me and mock whispers, “Sophie doesn’t like American food.”
“That’s not true!” She glares at him. “I just don’t like this kind of American food. We should have gone out for pizza. Or burgers.”
“We decided barbecue was better because Grace is Southern,” Jason says.
“No, you decided barbecue because Grace is Southern,” Sophie shoots back. “I thought she would appreciate a good Italian Thanksgiving.”
Normally, I would laugh at the sibling bickering, but after texting with Jane this morning, hearing Jason and Sophie makes my chest ache. The backs of my eyes burn, and I stare down at the menu and blink furiously to hold back tears. Sophie launches into a conversation with Tae Hwa in Korean, and I attempt to shrink out of notice. But Jason catches my eye.
His brows pull together. “Are you okay?” he says in a quiet voice.
“What?” I force a tight smile. “Of course! It’s so nice of y’all to do this for me. I really appreciate it.”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t look convinced, either. After a moment of awkward silence between us, he glances down at the menu, and I let out a deep sigh. With his attention diverted, I take the time to notice his blue button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the silver cross necklace hanging between his collarbones. I’m not sure what it is, but he has the most attractive collarbones I’ve ever seen.
Heat climbs up my neck when I think back to the ride back to Ganghwa Island after the music video shoot. I haven’t gotten up the courage to ask him about why he held my hand. Although he’s been nice to me since then, he’s never attempted any more physical contact. The only time I ever touch him is when he drives me to the dorms on the back of his bicycle, though I’ve mastered the art of balancing while holding on to as little of him as possible.
The server comes around, and Sophie orders all our drinks.
“And, Grace, don’t you even think about paying,” she says. “This is your day … Jason will pay for everybody.”
She shoots a sly grin at her brother, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
I order the biggest plate of pulled pork they have and chow down like I’m never going to eat again. A side of French fries doesn’t compare to coleslaw and corn bread, but I’m just happy to be eating something other than rice for a change. The meat isn’t as good as it is back home, but the sauce is Memphis style—sweet and spicy, with just the right amount of brown sugar and vinegar.
The owner even comes out to talk to me, and we reminisce about Tennessee and argue about which city’s better, Nashville or his hometown of Chattanooga.
On our way out, a familiar song plays on the radio, and I point to the ceiling, where I assume the speakers are located.
“Hey, that’s an Eden song!” I shoot Jason a grin.
Sophie beams, patting him on the back, but he just rolls his eyes. Still, he can’t hide the blush that colors his cheeks.