Chapter Two
Chapter Two
M
y phone rang. Then my text messages bleeped. It happened over and over, ring, bleep, ring, bleep, until I finally called my mom back.
She greeted me with, “Ji-yeon-ah, everything okay? You should be awake.”
Umma always assumed if I wasn’t picking up the phone, I was either sleeping in or napping. As if it was a bad thing to get more rest.
“I’m awake.” Technically, I was. I just happened to be lying fully flat on my bed, unshowered, with my pajamas still on. It was 1
P
.
M
.
“I’m buying
steak dinner
to celebrate good news!”
“What good news?” I bolted upright. Maybe my sister was pregnant again. Or she got a job promotion. By
steak dinner
, Umma usually meant the eight-ounce sirloin steak combination dinner at Applebee’s. For her, steak dinners were reserved for only the most special of celebrations.
She chuckled. “Your new job. I see you talk about on the Instant Grams.”
I clicked over to my Instagram account. Sure enough, a couple of weeks ago I had teased that I was looking for a career change and things were going well with my job interviews. I shared an old video of me on a basketball court, making an effortless shot from the three-point line. After my Swain & Wallace interviews, I took a photo of me in my interview suit in front of the company’s high-rise building in Midtown and uploaded it too. Maybe I should have deleted that.
“Last time you tell me your interviews were good. I tell all our church friends that you working at big global business soon and also writing new book! They ask if your company have office in Seoul, and I checked internet, and tell them yes!” she chirped.
My stomach sank. How could I tell my mom the truth now? If I did, she would worry herself sick about my finances, and be horribly shamed when people in the church community asked about my job or my possibly never-forthcoming book.
But was this an opportunity to unshackle and free myself from the burden of being a people pleaser, especially to my parents? Because of our money problems growing up, my whole adult life I tried to be fiscally independent. I took a job with a good salary and decent health insurance to compensate for my parents’ past financial hardship, just so they wouldn’t worry about me. I attained academic success, or so I thought, and used the Carlthorpe name for networking purposes and to buoy my job candidacy. Then I took a risk by doing what I had always wanted to do: I quit the corporate grind to go out on my own. All along the way, nonstop,
crippling guilt plagued me, because my parents gave up their lives and their own professional dreams in Korea so my sister and I could have a better future, and I was risking it all by choosing a more entrepreneurial path.
And look where I was now.
Tears that Umma couldn’t see flowed down my cheeks, as she expressed her own gesture of pride by offering me a top sirloin steak at her favorite chain restaurant. This was a big deal for her, so I made the decision to keep my secret close to my chest instead of admitting the truth, hoping this choice wouldn’t be one I would regret later.
“Can I get a raincheck on dinner? I’m going to be busy the next few months,” I explained vaguely.
Confusion clouded her voice. “You starting job right away?”
I swallowed hard. “Not exactly. I’m starting a new job after four months.”
Not untrue. I would be starting some kind of job at some point after four months.
“In the meantime, I’m going to take some classes to help educate me for my new job. Digital marketing and the tech landscape have changed so much. I thought by taking some special classes offered at Carlthorpe I could get ahead at work—maybe it could mean more money down the road.” Swain & Wallace’s HR lead told me that once I cleared the background check they would reconsider me for the position, if it was still available. It wasn’t a guarantee, but I needed to do everything within my power to get that job back.
Perhaps suspecting something, she questioned, “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
She was older now and retired, and over time we’d bickered less, mainly because I’d found ways to distance myself from my parents when they were causing stress. These were her golden years. I didn’t want to burden her with any of this.
I replied confidently, “Geokjeong haji maseyo.”
Don’t worry, Umma. It’ll be okay.
“Algesseo. In four months, then I promise steak dinner!”
I smiled. In four months I would have my degree. My life would go back the way it was. And then there would be plenty of reason to celebrate.