by Leigh Ban
As I watched, he knocked back the entire glass.
“Uh-oh,” he muttered, wiping his mouth.
I glanced at him. “What is it?”
“I swear the soju tastes sweet today. Do you know what that means?”
“You’re drunk already?”
“I’m going to get drunk faster than LTE and 5G.” He grabbed the tongs and put a piece of meat on my plate. “In fact, I can feel the buzz kicking in right now.”
“No way. I’ve never seen a guy close to your size get drunk from just one shot of soju.”
“I’m exhausted, you see,” he said, resting the back of his hand on his forehead and giving me a sleepy look.
I poured myself a second glass of soju. “From holding back your screams when we were in the haunted house?”
“Hey, I didn’t need to scream. You were the one who freaked out and clung onto my back for, what, fifteen minutes?”
My cheeks heated up. “Okay. Why are you exhausted then?”
Isaac took the bottle of soju from me and poured himself a drink. “From saving the day. Duh.”
“Oh, right. You were my knight in shining armor. Saving me from all of the evil in Unicorn World,” I said before putting a crispy piece of pork belly in my mouth.
“More like the king of the barbecue grill,” he joked.
While Isaac and I ate, the middle-aged men at the next table put their arms around each other and guffawed uncontrollably as they cracked jokes. They seemed to grow louder with every passing minute. Midway through our meal, we ordered more pork belly and soju. We got sloppier, spilling some of our drink on the table and burning a few chunks of meat.
“My parents don’t drink,” I blurted out.
“At all?” Isaac asked as he emptied our third bottle of soju into my glass.
“Pretty much. My dad might have one small glass of soju at an important gathering, but he doesn’t drink otherwise. My mom says she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since her first year of college. Apparently, neither of them like the taste.”
“So you don’t drink when you’re with your family?”
“Yup. I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in their presence.”
“Do they know you drink?”
“They used to think I was like them, but now they know I drink.” I tittered sheepishly. “It’s a long story.”
After we clinked our glasses, he said, “The wildest stories always are. Go on.”
I checked the time on my phone; it was only half past seven. “During my first semester at West Seoul University, I was a hot mess. I suppose it was a toxic combination of dealing with my first ‘breakup’ and not knowing how to handle the newfound freedom maturely, because I was living on my own for the first time. Basically, I tried to drink my sorrow away by going out four or even five nights in a row. I’d often head to class without having slept for like forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight hours?”
“I was so sleep-deprived I don’t know how I survived. It probably cost me a couple years of my life.”
“So how long did that last?”
“Until the end of my first semester. After my last exam, I went out to celebrate with a group of classmates and saw my ex sitting at the next booth. He was making out with someone.”
“That must’ve been awful. What did you do?”
“Well, I didn’t go up to him.” I laughed without smiling. “I desperately wanted to get out of there, but my friends droned on about how we hadn’t finished our drinks yet. So I drank two bottles of soju straight from the bottle, then stomped out of the pub. The alcohol kicked in pretty quickly when I was halfway down the stairs to the first floor.”
“You didn’t fall over, did you?”
“Yeah, I fell. And once I fell, I rolled down the stairs. My classmates called the ambulance. I spent the rest of the night in a hospital bed, puking my guts out. My mom caught the earliest express train to Seoul at dawn. When she ran into my ward, she burst into tears.”
Isaac reached out and stroked my hand.
“I’m fine,” I murmured.
“I know,” he murmured back.
I continued. “I’d never seen her more worried or… disappointed. To top it off, my grades were terrible. Prior to that incident, my parents always saw me as a responsible kid. Ugh, I can’t imagine how shocked they must’ve been. I feel like I’ve been trying to make it up to them ever since. Even with the Hope Scholarship.” I let out a deep sigh. “Of course, I want to win the scholarship for other reasons as well. It’s my own future after all. But you get what I mean.”
He nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Should we order another one?” I asked, holding up an empty bottle and glancing into it.
When I opened my eyes, I was leaning against Isaac’s shoulder.
“Hey, time to get up,” he murmured, nudging me softly.
“Where are we?” I mumbled, still half asleep.
“In a taxi. Don’t you remember telling the driver your address?” He chuckled.
I shrugged, rubbing my eyes.
“Is that your building?” he asked, pointing out the window.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I said, suddenly more alert. “How many bottles did we drink?”
“Well, you insisted we order a fourth bottle, but then you kind of fell asleep. I ended up drinking half the bottle on my own before calling it a night.”
“Right.” I could vaguely recall twisting the fourth bottle open with a silly chant.
“You got pretty hyped up for a while,” he commented. “It was pretty funny.”
The driver stopped the taxi and turned to look at us. “We’re here. Next we’re headed to Hannam, right?”
I opened the door and stepped out. “No need to come out and walk me to my door.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Isaac replied, smiling.
“Good to see we’re on the same page. See you next week,” I said before swinging the door shut.
As I watched the taxi drive away, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. When I left my apartment to head to Unicorn World hours earlier, I’d never in a million years expected to get kicked out with Isaac and get drunk on soju over Korean barbecue.
Partner Assignment #3
One of the unexpected perks of visiting Unicorn World in October was the opportunity to check out the Halloween-exclusive attractions. Isaac and I went into a haunted house called the Danger Zone, which appeared to be unintimidating from the outside but ended up being the most intense haunted house I’ve ever entered. The camera at the end caught me off guard, and I don’t exactly understand why Isaac was eager to purchase our picture, but I suppose some couples might enjoy displaying their partner’s “I’m going to die” face on their nightstand.
A couple of days later, I received a JoaJoa message from Seungwoo, my mentor for the Hope Scholarship. His profile picture was of him wearing a goofy wide-brimmed hat while he sat in a beach chair with a piña colada in his hand. Although he was by no means conventionally attractive, he seemed to exude joy. He was currently attending his last semester at West Seoul University. We agreed to meet at a campus café.
“You must be Yumi,” Seungwoo said as he got up from the sofa. He had slicked-back hair and was holding a copy of the Financial Times.
“Yeah, that’s me. Thank you for taking the time to meet up with me today,” I replied, flashing him a smile.
“No problem.” He smiled back. “So tell me about yourself. How are you doing with the scholarship application process?”
I sat across from him and put my cup on the table. “I was stressed out during midterm period, but I ended up doing fairly well, which is a relief. Oh, and I’ve finished the first draft of all of my essays.”
“Would you like me to have a look at them and give you feedback?” he offered.
“That would be awesome. Thank you so much. When should I share them with you? When’s the best time?” I asked before taking a sip of black coffee.
/> “Just send them over whenever you’d like. I have plenty of free time. I’m taking it easy this semester.”
“How many credits are you taking? I take it you’ve been diligent about fulfilling your graduation requirements?”
“Yeah, I guess so. All of my courses are general electives.” Seungwoo snickered, adjusting the collar of his oxford shirt. “I’m taking a lot of classes with the unemployables.”
“The unemployables?” I repeated, staring at him in confusion.
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“The students who study unemployable majors and pretend they don’t mind because they’re artsy-fartsy undiscovered geniuses.”
“Unemployable majors? There are so many different career paths. I don’t think it’s fair to claim some majors are simply unemployable. Besides, it’s not as if every economics major is going to land a high-paying job,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
“They study useless, impractical topics though. Ancient thinkers, minority issues, blah blah blah. They’d major in economics if they could, but alas, their grades or exam scores weren’t quite high enough for the West Seoul University Department of Economics.”
I raised my eyebrows. Clearly there was no point in arguing with him.
“But you’re right.” Seungwoo smacked his slobbery lips. “A lot of the economics majors at our school are basically doomed too. In the current youth unemployment crisis, having a degree from a good university isn’t enough to give you a job offer, at least not for a high-paying, permanent position at a great company. In one way or another, they’re destined to become overeducated street vendors.”
When I scowled, he mistook my annoyance for distress over my future prospects.
“Don’t worry, Yumi,” he said.
I sighed and poured the rest of my coffee into my mouth. It took all the restraint in the world to stop myself from snapping at him.
“You’ll be fine.” He gave me a slimy wink. “The top financial institutions love students like us. Hope Scholars are always considered the crème de la crème, no matter the economic climate. Besides, you’ve got some of the economics professors looking out for you, right? Like Mr. Byun. Which means you have the option of attending grad school abroad if all else fails.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot… I have to go.” I jumped up from my seat.
“You do? What’s the time?” Seungwoo peered at his gold Rolex, then stood up. “Looks like I have to leave too. Are you headed to the Department of Economics? Let’s go there together.”
“No, I’m just going to the library.” I pointed off into the distance.
“The library?”
“For a class project meeting,” I lied as we stepped out of the café.
“I see. You’ve got to get all the A’s, huh? I know how stressful that can be. Don’t worry too much though. The economics professors at West Seoul University are great at writing recommendation letters. Who’s your referee?”
“Professor Choi,” I mumbled.
While we made our way toward the entrance of the building, a couple of cleaners scurried past, each carrying a large mop. They left a faint trail of water. Seungwoo pinched his nose and glared at them—he couldn’t have looked more disgusted even if he tried.
“After you,” he said as he held the glass door open for me.
“Thanks,” I snarled.
“It was nice meeting up with you today. We can meet up at a pub or a bar next time, if you want.”
“Bye,” I muttered without so much as looking at him.
“See you later, Yumi!”
When I walked away, there was a bitter taste in my mouth. And it wasn’t because of the black coffee.
Chapter Eight
Although I’d long outgrown my fantasy of living happily ever after with my fairy prince, I still found myself lost in thoughts of going on dreamy dates with a swoon-worthy hunk who was too good to be real. I wanted to put on a lace dress and attend a ballet performance with a sexy man in a suit. So when Professor Lim displayed the lineup of upcoming performances at the Seo Woo Center for Performing Arts on the beam projector, I just about screamed from the middle of the lecture hall. Of course, in my dreams, I went there with a sensitive, cultured, actual boyfriend, but for now, going there with Isaac was close enough.
Convincing him to see The Nutcracker with me was surprisingly easy. I’d expected him to protest and insist we watch a comedy show or a band performance instead, but he didn’t crack a single joke about my suggestion.
One November evening, I paired a lace blouse with a tulle skirt, layered a long faux fur coat on top, and met Isaac in front of a magnificent musical fountain.
“You’re early,” he called out, waving me over.
“So are you,” I replied.
My patent heels clicked against the tile floor as I sashayed over to Isaac. While the musical fountain played the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” Isaac straightened the collar of his camel coat, which he wore on top of a navy suit. When we exchanged glances, he beamed at me with his midnight-black eyes. I couldn’t deny it; he looked incredible. In that moment, I felt like I’d stepped out of an old Hollywood movie.
“This isn’t such a bad place to kill time,” he remarked, peering over at the main building. Since it was the Christmas season, the center was lit up red and green.
“Yeah, not such a bad place, huh? We’re standing in front of the most remarkable piece of architecture in Seoul, but no big deal.”
“You’re right.” He chuckled. “The last time I came here was in middle school. Back then, I’d come here once a fortnight.”
“What was the last performance you watched? Do you remember?” I asked as we stood in front of the fountain.
“I came here for the ballet actually. I always did. The last show I watched was either Sleeping Beauty or The Nutcracker.”
I gave him an incredulous look; I wasn’t sure whether he was kidding.
He explained, “My mom’s a former ballerina, so she knows people in the national ballet company. They’d give her tickets, and at one point, I started going with her instead of my dad. It was the only thing I did other than go to cram schools. I guess she wanted me to become a man of culture.”
“You didn’t find it boring?”
“Boring? Nah. Not at all. I loved it.”
“Aha.” I clicked my fingers, then pointed at him. “So that’s why it was so easy to convince you to see The Nutcracker.”
“Why? Did you think I was too unrefined to appreciate the most famous Christmas ballet of all time?” Isaac teased with a smirk on his face.
“You just didn’t seem like the type,” I said, looking at his square shoulders and sculpted jawline. I knew it wasn’t fair to stereotype people, but he seemed like the kind of guy whose only idea of a good time was going to an exclusive nightclub or bar, someplace where he could be the center of attention. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d merely fantasized about seeing the ballet at the Seo Woo Center while he’d grown up coming here on a regular basis.
“Do you want to go and check out the pavilion behind the main building?” He gestured to his right.
“Sure.”
Although it was more or less winter now, the weather had been pretty mild this week. I enjoyed breathing in the cool, crisp air as we walked past the Seo Woo Center.
“By the way, how about you? When was the last time you came here?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m not as refined as you. Since I grew up in Hawaii and Busan, the first time I visited the center was on a school field trip, and the second time was… Well, it’s today.”
“You lived in Hawaii? Sounds like a kickass childhood. Why didn’t you come here after you started college?”
“What? On a date?” I snorted. “I never met the right guy. I better thank Professor Lim for this opportunity.”
He shrugged. “Or with your friends. You’re in your third year, aren’t you? You’re a Seoul
ite now. When you suggested we see The Nutcracker, I thought you might be one of those people who comes here every season.”
“Oh, I wish. I don’t think any of my friends are into ballet,” I muttered, too embarrassed to reveal that visiting the center with my modern-day Prince Charming had been an elaborate, over-the-top fantasy for me.
“In that case, we better make tonight an extra-special night,” he said, stopping in his tracks. When I turned around, he added, “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Come on.”
“What are you doing?” I closed my eyes and laughed.
“You’ll see,” he whispered. He proceeded to hold my hand and take the lead.
“Isaac, this surprise better be good,” I called out. Although the cute, endearing thing to do would’ve been to act coy, I didn’t want to torture myself in such a way. “You better not take me to a massive nest of caterpillars or whatever else you might’ve thought was interesting when you were in middle school.”
“Don’t worry. I grew out of my insect obsession in fourth grade. Oh, careful!”
When I stepped on a bumpy gravel path, I winced.
Just as I was about to open my eyes, he said, “Not quite. We’re almost there though.”
I squeezed his hand tight and took small, cautious steps. The voices in the background gradually grew louder.
A minute later, he exclaimed, “We’re here!”
When I opened my eyes, my jaw dropped open. We were standing under a quaint lamppost, surrounded by deep red roses. Although I’d always thought May was the month of roses, these flowers were perfectly maintained amidst the colder weather. The large petals were plump with moisture.
“What do you think? Are you glad I brought you here? Or are you going to pretend you’re not while inwardly thanking me?”
“This garden is so beautiful,” I murmured, slowly turning my head as I inhaled the floral scent. “It’s so beautiful that I don’t believe the last time you came here was with your mom in middle school.”
“Seriously?” He chuckled. “If you don’t believe me, next week I’ll show you photos of thirteen-year-old me pulling stupid faces next to the roses.”
