“can you chop the scallions? ”
seo-jun didn't look away from his smartphone to reply to his mother’s request. he was busy texting vince cordova about a new show they were planning to binge watch friday night.
“seo. . seo! ”
“what? ”
“what do you mean, 'what’? i need you to chop the scallions.” it was 11: 30 a. m., and the town pavilion—the office building ji-suk's food truck bul-go! -gi was parked outside of—was about to unleash a stampede of customers. “i have to get this beef marinating, otherwise in a half hour i'm going to lose a bunch of hungry tax consultants to the chicken and waffle guys across street.”
seo-jun smiled, but ji-suk couldn't see his eyes from under his royal blue cap. then she realized he was still looking at his phone, which he was concealing below his knees as his fingers tapped the screen.
“hey! ” she threw a kitchen towel at him, and it unfurled in midair and landed on his head, draping itself over the brim of his cap.
“okay, okay, i'll do it.”
ji-suk had made a name for herself in kansas city, especially after a local magazine wrote a big cover story when she left her job as an attorney at a law firm after seven years to start a food truck business. if her own mother had still been alive, she would have been quite upset with ji-suk for that. her mother had spent years learning to speak relatively good english, and she’d been determined to make sure ji-suk graduated from a respectable college and became a lawyer. even though she'd made ji-suk take korean lessons every saturday morning followed by violin lessons in the afternoon—and cooked kimchi and other korean delicacies with her at least once a week—ji-suk's mother had wanted her to succeed by american standards.
and she had. she'd become a lawyer, just like her mother wanted, but she'd also learned to love burnt end barbecue, a local culinary favorite. she was an avid fan of the kansas city chiefs. she even loved playing softball; she had a wickedly fast windmill pitch, having played throughout college and graduate school and on the law firm's recreational team. ji-suk had succeeded by american standards in ways her mother couldn't have imagined, and in ways her mother probably didn't want, but ji-suk couldn't do anything about that. she was american, just as much as she was korean, and even though her mother wouldn't have wanted her to do it, starting the food truck was ji-suk's way of honoring her mother and showing that she valued what her mother had taught her.
still, she was determined not to force seo-jun to do the things her mother had forced her to do. he wouldn't have to take violin lessons, nor would he have to learn korean. she was more than willing to let him take korean lessons if he showed any interest, but he never did.
she wasn't sure, however, whether she was doing the right thing, as seo-jun didn't seem to want to play sports, nor did he have any serious hobbies. he got by in school, but he didn’t apply himself. he was mostly interested in his friends. she hadn't been any different at his age, and she would have spent most of her time with her friends, too, but her mother would never have allowed it.
seo-jun finished chopping a stalk of scallions and put down his knife in order to glance at his phone. “hey mom, vince has to do something with his family on friday night. he asked if we can hang out right now. would it be okay if i headed over there now? ”
“sure.”
he tried to read his mother's face, but she just carried on marinating the meat. he grabbed his backpack and threw it over one of his shoulders. then he headed out the back door of the truck.
he looked back at her serving her first guest. she was smiling, but it was a distant smile. without saying a word, he climbed back into the food truck.
ji-suk glanced over but still didn't say a word.
he picked up his knife and a handful of scallions and started chopping.