Leave the Night On Pt. 03

"You're close with her." It's not a question. It's clear by the way she speaks of her that their relationship has more of the complicity shared between the regular mother and daughter.

"I am. Just as close as you and Hannah," she says, knowingly. She bends to set her mug on the floor and then cups my face in her free hands. "You don't need to worry this much about your kid, Julian. She's far smarter than I was at her age."

"You know that's not possible," I tell her. I know she means well, but the kind of worry a parent feels only a parent knows.

"I know, Julian. Of course you can't not worry about your own child. But you know you're doing the best you can, and your best is already above average. Most kids with two parents don't get the love and the support you alone give to your daughter." Her voice betrays something and it seems to me she speaks more from personal experience than from careful observation of her student's personal lives. "I've been working at that school for almost five years now and I swear, Julian, I have never ever seen a girl worship her Dad as much as Hannah does. It isn't even possible for you to become a better Dad than you already are."

Pearl is holding my eyes to hers and she has to be seeing the thoughts passing through my head. She has to be seeing how I think she's amazing. How she's just said everything I needed to hear. How, for the first time since my divorce, I'm wishing Hannah had more than my love and my support. Yet I can't explain to her how my worries go beyond raising a mixed-race daughter alone. I can't explain, in any way she'd understand, how there was a role Karen used to play in Hannah's life and now there's a void in this house. A void I'm not sure I can fill.

"I only wish Hannah grows up to be a woman like you," I say, surprising us both with how the words roll out of me, draped in sincerity. "Then I'll know I did my job right."

Pearl releases a sigh; her eyes soften at their corners before crinkling with a smile. She lays one lingering kiss on my mouth. "That has to be the nicest, kindest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you," she says, and she's looking at me with something new. Something I haven't seen in over ten years.

"Don't get too cocky. You're still the worst singer," I say to damp the urge to keep basking on how much I like being seen through her eyes.

She rolls her eyes again. "Whatever. I have other outstanding skills I can perform with my mouth "

"You sure do, My Pearl."

The smile she awards me is brittle and falters on her lips before it even settles. "Listen," she starts, and my heartbeats lose rhythm with an incoming anxiety. "I can't come next Friday."

"Oh, come on. I just want your body for a few hours." I laugh nervously to disguise my relief. I was expecting to hear something different.

My stupid joke is disregarded with a scoff from her. "I have a previous engagement, Mr. Song."

What engagement? "Right on my Friday?"

"Unfortunately."

I have my mouth half open to suggest a solution for this riddle, when Pearl speaks again. "I was thinking maybe..." she trails off, her voice hanging on to something akin to insecurity.

I guess at what her next words could be, so I say, "Maybe you won't make me wait a whole week to see you naked again?"

Pearl's beautiful dark chocolate eyes go so wide her eyebrows rise. "I'd hate to torture you," she says softly.

"I'm free Mondays."

She stares at me. A slight frown wrinkles her forehead. I'm not sure she doesn't get my meaning. I'm free Mondays. Every Monday. Because once a week is suddenly not enough anymore.

"Lil's celebrating the conclusion of her research on some weird plants Monday night," she says. I open my mouth but she presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. "Do you mind meeting later? Maybe you could come to me. I'd love to show you my room."

Relieved, I smile against her fingers. "Yeah. That works for me."

"Good."

She kisses me that teasing, hungry way she does. It escalates from hungry and violent to slow and exploratory. I don't know how long we stay like this. At some point she gets quiet again, granting silence permission to invade the room. I start feeling the weight of the night we spent together. All the energy we poured into each other has not been replenished.

"Why can't you sleep?"

"I don't know," she murmurs. "I've always been like this."

I almost answer "I know," as though I could really know what she's always been like. It's that eerie familiarity. "Maybe I should work you a little harder."

She rises to meet the challenge. "Maybe you should, Mr. Song."

I rise from the chair, taking her with me. "Let's go back to bed. I'll tire you some more."

***

EXCEPTIONALLY TODAY, I STAY IN THE TRUCK at pick up time. I'd love to get out and grab a chance to say a few teasing lines to Pearl. As it happens, I have too much work to be done before our date tonight.

I spy Han emerging through the school doors. She stops, head going from side to side, looking for me amongst the moms. I press the honk to catch her attention. Fluffies even barks to signal our location.

Hannah rushes to the truck. "Hey, little girl. Good day?"

She climbs in and gives me a perfunctory hug. The dog gets all the warmth. "It was okay," she says, monotonously.

"Only okay?"

She shrugs. "Miss Jones taught math today. I hate math. Numbers don't make sense."

Hannah is still too young to feign interest in things she considers uninteresting. It's that good old sincerity all kids have. "You get that from me. I sucked at math in school," I say, starting the car. "Let's go, Halmoni is waiting for you."

I'm about to go when I see Pearl outside the school. She's talking to some kid's mom. I will her to look in my direction. As if sensing my presence, she glances my way. I wave a hand, smiling. She smiles back. Damn, she has one of those smiles. The bright and broad kind that makes you dazed.

"Daddy?"

I tear my eyes away from Pearl. "Yeah?"

Hannah's grinning. She has the same sly grin as her mother. It always meant trouble for me. "You always smile at Miss Jones."

Shit."Uh. You think so?"

"You like her," Hannah concludes with a giggle.

"Well...yeah." I stumble on my words. "She's a nice teacher, isn't she? You like her too."

"I don't smile at her like you do. Halmoni thinks you have a girlfriend because you're always smiling."

Shit. I made one hell of a smart kid. I can see her connecting dots in her little head. "Halmoni thinks many things."

Hannah pets her dog, giving him all the attention while she talks to me. "I like Miss Jones. She's funny. She thinks I'm smart."

"You are smart, Han." Maybe too smart for my own good.

***

TWICE A WEEK, I HAVE A NIGHT TO MYSELF. My mother has Hannah every Friday night, and Karen has her every Monday.

We reached this agreement easily, with no need for lawyers or a painful drawn out battle in court. Karen knew Hannah would be better off with me for the same reasons we had to get a divorce. Mondays were designated as Karen's and Hannah loves this time with her mother. Hence why it's convenient that Pearl suggested we meet tonight. I don't need to devise an excuse to cover why I want a Monday night off fatherhood.

"You look nice, Daddy," Hannah says as I step into the leaving room.

I look down at myself. My shirt is new. My jeans are not tight, nor loose either. I know Pearl likes me in close fitting jeans. In truth, I have made an effort. "Thanks, Han," I say, self-conscious all of a sudden. A six-year-old has made me feel self-conscious. "You've got everything you need?"

She nods. Nodding is her favorite form of non-verbal communication. She gets that from my father. Most of his answers were given with a dip of his chin.

"Where are you going, Daddy?" Hannah asks inside the truck.

"Seatbelt, Han." I wait until she's buckled up to answer her question. "I've told you. I'm going to a friend's dinner party."

She gives me a squint-eyed look like she will never fall for my bullshit. Honestly, I have no idea where she gets this from. I was never this smart as a kid. "Grown-ups' parties are boring. I'm only inviting the grown-ups I like for my birthday," she says.

Her seventh birthday is less than a month away. She's been planning it for two months now. The cake, she says, has to be very big and very good. Red velvet. "Speaking of your birthday, do you have that guest list for me?"

My answer is another acquiescing nod. She unzips her backpack and pulls a sheet paper from it. "Here."

"I'm driving, honey. Will you read it for me?"

Hannah starts listing the few precious names on her list of guests. I'm surprised and equally elated as she mentions the names of kids from school I've never heard of. She's made new friends. Just for that reason, I catch myself smiling until I hear a name that snatches my full attention.

"Who was that, Han?"

I turn my head in time to catch the smart-ass look on her face. "Miss Jones, Daddy. My teacher."

"You're inviting Miss Jones too?"

A nod. "She is a fun grown-up."

I'm smiling again. "She is."

***

KAREN IS ALLERGIC TO DOG HAIR. When I was still a student practicing my clinical skills, I had to take a very long and very thorough shower before meeting her. I had to make sure all the dog hair was off me. Hannah has to do the same thing every time she visits her mother. Since I'm not staying home this time, Fluffies is condemned to a home alone night.

Because my mother is paranoid about the shit she watches on the local news, she never leaves the backdoor unlocked at night. I have to let myself in through the front door.

Ever since my father passed away, myself and Hannah are my mother's usual visitors. Which is why I'm confused by the sound of unfamiliar voices as I enter the house. From the hallway, I can discern words spoken in Korean as I put my coat in the closet. I notice a set of coats I know, by a fact, were never in this closet before. A dull looking male one. A serious looking female one.

"Jae-Woo, is that you?" My mother's voice, unusually sweet, calls from the direction of the dining room she rarely uses.

"Yeah," I shout back, staring at the coats a while longer. The reasons my brain provides for those coats being there are all so ridiculous I discard them, refusing to accept any as possibly real. I shut the closet door and move into the dining room.

Immediately, I know what I've just walked into. Three grinning faces turn to greet me. My mother's and two strangers'. It isn't astonishing at all, my mother being who she is, that the first conclusion my mind jumped to upon seeing those coats is the one that is actually confirmed by this scene. I'm ambushed by my own mother. This is, for lack of better words, a blind date. A chaperoned one.

I polish my face into an expression of pure politeness. All traces of surprise, or anger and betrayal, are hidden away. I take a bow. "Good evening," I say in polite and pleasant Korean.

My mother practically jumps from her seat, beaming smile at the ready. "Jae-Woo! You're late!" She says, in apologetic Korean. She's greeting me, but addressing her guests. "Mr. Kang and his daughter have been waiting!"

That's fucking right. Mr. Kang and his daughter who is a doctor. And single. And a suitable match for me, according to my mother's criteria.

My mother shots me an anxious glance that says "Play along". What I want to do is leave. Just turn my back and go. With no apologies. No faked niceties. My first immediate urge is to damn this all to hell. Instead, I take a deep breath. I hear the sensible voice in my head that tells me people are watching, unaware of my mother's schemes. Mr. Kang and his daughter are ignorant of my reluctance to participate in this whole thing. These are the reasons why I apologize for my tardiness and take a seat next to Miss Kang. I'm ready to act nice and obedient all night.

Throughout dinner, my mother insists on speaking her native tongue only. "Because we must keep our traditions strong," she says. Except, I know she's testing Miss Kang on her language skills.

Miss Kang, unschooled on the manipulative ways of my mother, is mostly quiet. Probably because my mother rarely gives the woman a chance to talk. Occasionally, a glance over the table tells me my mother couldn't be prouder of her own ingenuity. The dance she and Mr. Kang both do around their children couldn't be more lacking in subtlety. My mother makes a turn in conversation here that leads to Mr. Kang mentioning how much his daughter loves dogs. She has three Poodles - devilish hairy things, I think - and it's oh so hard to find a trusting vet these days. That's when my profession is so conveniently mentioned. And in that instant, we're gifted with an excuse to exchange phone numbers.

The last of my patience vanishes when my mother brings Hannah into the conversation. "Is hard for a girl to grow up without female influence," she says. I bite my tongue to keep it in check. Mr. Kang comments on this by mentioning he raised his daughter mostly by himself since his wife passed away when Miss Kang was just a girl. I interrupt, asking him about his business, and that is the last we speak of daughters.

With each passing minute, my words become fewer and shorter. Mr. Kang, a fat middle-aged man, starts looking heavy-lidded enough to leave just when the plates have been clear for about ten minutes. I'm desperate to call Pearl. I excuse myself from the table with the pretense of using the restroom.

I try calling Pearl, twice. Both my attempts end in her voicemail. I leave her a message saying I might be a little late. By the time I return to the gathering, my mother is about to serve dessert. Miss Kang volunteers to help, but I'm faster. I need the excuse to be alone with my mother.

I follow her into the kitchen where, instead of helping, I stand controlling my breath. She pretends not to notice the heat I'm emanating.

"Mother." She feigns deafness. I try again, louder. "Umma."

She turns, face lined with a fake naivety.

I throw my hands up. "What the fuck?"

Her eyes widen at my breach of conduct. "Language, Jae-Woo!"

She hates English. She hates when her sons curse in English. I'm too pissed off to care. "Mom, what the hell is this?"

She moves to open the fridge, turning her back on me. "I do this for Hannah," she says in English. Clearly worried about her guests eavesdropping.

I follow her so I don't have to shout. "How is this for anyone or anything other than to satisfy your own interests?!"

She shoves a plate full of yaksik into my hands. "Man can't raise girl alone. She needs mother," she says.

I lose sense of the respect I owe her. I can't accept this type of interference in my personal life. Not anymore. "She has a mother, Umma!"

"Karen is not good mother!" She yells, losing her composure. She starts swaying between languages. "Hannah needs a woman in the house. You need a woman, Jae-Woo!"

Karen has always acted as a wedge between my family and I. There's nothing we disagree on more. She might not be my wife anymore, but she will always be Hannah's mother. "Hannah is my daughter. She's mine, not yours. I decide what she needs. Don't you dare presume you can impose the women you deem suitable on our lives!"

"Jae-Woo!" My mother straightens her back, assuming the same posture she'd take when I was a child in need of scowling. " I'm your mother. You can't talk to me this way!"

"And you can't meddle in my life like this. I'm not a child anymore." My tone hurts her. I don't have it in me to care.

Her voice softens when she changes languages. "I want only best for my son."

"I don't want to hear it, Umma."

I'm too angry to care much for the pain that flutters over her features. Turning my back on her, I take the dessert plates back to the dining room. We eat mostly in silence. This time, Miss Kang is the one to help take the dishes away. When she returns, I'm free of having to make small talk with her father. I step outside and try calling Pearl unsuccessfully again. Her voicemail message is ending just as Miss Kang joins me.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your call," she says.

I pocket my phone. "You didn't."

She smiles knowingly. "You were ambushed tonight, weren't you"?

My surprise must register on my face because she laughs and says, "Come on. You were monosyllabic most of the night and looked like you wanted to be anywhere but here the rest of it."

I do her the favor of not trying to lie.

"I think I might have come here under false pretenses," she says. "I thought you knew what this diner was."

"Matchmaking," I whip before I can think better of it. I catch myself, realizing how it must have sounded to her ears. She must be as much a victim of our parents' interference as I am. "I'm sorry."

She sweeps a hand under her nape, throwing her hair to the side. It's only then I notice her. Truly notice her. She's attractive. Attractive in a way that would catch my eye if I'd seen her some other place, in different circumstances. As things are, she's here representing the imposition of my mother's will over my life choices.

"Don't apologize. I get it. All my parents wanted was for me to be a doctor. Now that I am, it doesn't really matter as much as a good marriage will."

"Tell me about it."

"I heard about Hannah's mom," she says in a conversational tone. She doesn't seem to be fishing for details, although she makes it sound casual enough that I'm tempted to give her some.

"I'm sure you have. Parents with grown children have little to do but meddle and gossip."

She reaches into her jean's back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She pulls one out and I notice that's not a cigarette at all. I glance over my shoulder, at our parents gossiping in the living room.

She winks. "Relax. Our vices, at least, they can't control." She lights her joint and takes a long, deep drag. "Want some?"

"No, thanks," I say, quietly having my revenge on my mother. How would she like the woman in Hannah's life sneaking off to the backyard to smoke weed?

"I dated this guy in medical school," Miss Kang starts, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. "Irish. He didn't pass the parents' test. He didn't like Korean food. He had a low tolerance to spicy food. My parents were worried what kind of kids we'd have."

"Kimchi hating kids would be a nightmare. My mother makes tons of it so Hannah will get addicted to the thing," I tell Miss Kang. It is surprisingly easy to talk to her.

Out of the blue she blurts, "You're seeing someone." She's not asking.

"Yeah," I exhale.

She nods. "Am I right in guessing she isn't Korean?"

"She's black." I don't know why I tell her this. Maybe because I think she can understand and I'm looking for some sympathy.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Is it serious?"

"I don't know yet. I want it to be." Who am I kidding? I already treat it like it is.

She drops her joint and stomps it under her shoe. "But you like her."

I throw her a questioning glance. "Are you asking?"

"It's plain to see."

I smile to myself. "Am I that obvious, Miss Kang?"

"It's Annie," she says, extending her hand to me. I take it and we shake. It's a belated and useless introduction. "And yes. You have one of those open book faces."

Attractive and smart. My mother could, if not for her meddling, be right in her choice this time. I ponder on Miss Kang, Annie, for a couple of self-indulgent seconds. It could be easy. It could be so simple. Everyone would be happy. Despite all the uncomplications, as I'm standing here next to her, I'm still thinking I should be driving to Pearl's. I'm still thinking about the sounds she made in my bed last Friday. And I'm annoyed by the smoke and the smell of burning grass.