“You have to try this,” Sophie says as we step into the line. “It’s called bindaetteok.”
Sophie orders three servings, and we take our plates to one of the tables in the middle of the room. Jason sits across from us and pulls his scarf down from his face just long enough to pop a piece of the pancake into his mouth.
I pull the bindaetteok apart and hold a piece in front of my mouth, but after the kimchi incident when I thought my mouth would burst into flames, I decide to take a small bite first.
“What’s in this?”
“It’s made from mung beans, with onions and kimchi,” Sophie says. “And I ordered pork to go inside. It’s good. Dip it in the soy sauce.”
It’s chewy like a pancake, and the spicy kimchi ignites my mouth but not as bad as last night. The pork gives it a savory flavor, and the onions balance with some sweetness.
“This is good.” I take another bite. “Seriously.”
Sophie brightens. “You like it? Do you want to try something else?”
“Uhh…”
But she bolts up from the table and scurries over to another vendor, leaving half of her bindaetteok on her plate. I get a feeling I’m about to try everything this market has to offer that Sophie can shove down my throat.
“She likes showing you around the city,” Jason says, his voice muffled behind the scarf. “It’s nice of you to let her play tour guide.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t mind. I like having somebody show me the ropes.”
We take a few moments to enjoy our bindaetteok, but we’re interrupted by two girls tapping Jason on the shoulder. They giggle, each trying to hide behind the other.
He waves them away, tilting his head down. They frown but don’t move. He tells them something, and they back away, looks of disappointment and confusion on their faces.
“You’re terrible with your fans,” I say. “You probably just broke their hearts.”
“I told them I’m not who they think I am.” He keeps his gaze focused on his pancake, which he rips into tiny pieces. “You’ve seen how crazy they get when they recognize me.”
“Maybe you should learn how to interact with them. It could help those rumors about you being surly and hard to work with.”
His head jerks up. “What rumors?”
“That’s what they said on that gossip show. Sophie told me all about it earlier—that Eden is supposedly breaking up because you are a prima donna and can’t get along with Tae Hwa and Yoon Jae.”
He snorts. “They don’t know anything.”
“Maybe. But it does seem like you and Yoon Jae aren’t very close.”
His eyes tighten. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I’m about to cite all the times I’ve suspected there’s something brewing between them when Sophie claps a myriad of bowls and plates down onto the table. I gape at all the food.
“Are you trying to make me fat?” I ask.
She plops down onto the bench. “I just thought you’d want to try a little bit of everything.” She points to each dish in turn. “That’s sundae, and that’s mandu—they’re my favorites—and then jokbal.”
I pick up one of the mandu, which looks like a dumpling, and find it’s even better than the bindaetteok. Spurred by the positive experience, I take a bite of the jokbal, some kind of meat served with a sauce that smells fishy.
“What kind of meat is this?” I ask between chews.
Jason watches me eat, his eyes lit with amusement. “Pig’s feet.”
I cough on the last bit of jokbal lingering in my mouth.
Sophie takes in my shocked expression. “What’s wrong? Jokbal is good.”
Jason unsuccessfully attempts to hide his laughter behind that obnoxious scarf, but I hear it and shoot him a glare. He only snickers louder.
“You’re right, it’s good. I’m just not sure I’m ready to eat pig’s feet, knowing what it is, you know? I don’t even like pork rinds in America.”
But Sophie’s face falls like I’ve disappointed her, so I stuff myself with more dumplings to placate her.
Jason stands. “I’ll be right back.”
He returns a moment later with a bottle of clear liquid and two shallow metal bowls. When he unscrews the top off the bottle, the distinct, sharp smell of alcohol wafts toward me. I wrinkle my nose, glancing over at Sophie. She frowns at the bottle, her chopsticks hovering over some jokbal.
“Is that vodka?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice emotionless as Jason fills the two bowls.
“No, it’s soju.” He hands Sophie one of the bowls and keeps one for himself. “I assumed you didn’t want any since you didn’t drink at the bar that night.”
I don’t say anything but watch him put the bowl to his mouth and drain it, like you would drink the leftover milk from your cereal bowl. But milk can’t make you forget where you are or decide to drunk-call your ex-girlfriend.
Or think it’s okay to take more pills than the bottle directs.
Sophie doesn’t touch her bowl, just stares at her brother. Tension settles around us, but Jason doesn’t seem to notice it. Or else he’s ignoring it.
She abruptly gets to her feet, bumping the table and rattling the plates. Failing at hiding both her hurt and irritation, she says, “I’m—I’ll be right back.”
I watch her flee until she disappears into the crowd. Jason still doesn’t address the awkwardness, so I take it upon myself to investigate.
“What’s wrong with Sophie?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I think it has something to do with the soju.”
With my view of his face limited to his eyes, I search them for any recognition but find confusion instead.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“She got upset when she saw you drinking.” I hesitate, then venture to add, “Like the night of your birthday party when you were drunk.”
“You’re just being overly sensitive.”
Irritation bubbles inside my chest, but I ignore it. “Am I? Ironic that the only times she’s upset with you are when you drink.”