“I’ll miss the rain,” I said against his chest. All I wanted to do was stay in the safety of his arms a little bit longer.
“I’ll miss you,” he repeated in a whisper.
And then my mom joined us for the hug.
The sudden feel of wheels touching down jolted me out of the memory as the plane hit the runway. The sound of Ariana Grande’s voice filled my ears as my eyes greedily drank in the view from the window.
I smiled.
Time for an adventure.
And the chance of a lifetime.
Chapter Two
Surrounded
Grace
It was raining. Actually, it was more of a torrential downpour that immediately made me homesick. I could almost smell the Seattle air.
It had to be a good omen, right? I had left rain only to land in rain; everything was going to be one hundred percent fine!
I waited impatiently for my turn and breathed a sigh of relief when I was able to step out into the aisle.
Nerves crashed over me as I grabbed my black Nike backpack and threw it on over my white hoody, thankful I’d packed something warm in my carry-on so that I didn’t freeze in the rain. The last thing I needed was to get sick before I even started the internship.
My leggings were sticking to my legs, and it didn’t help that my feet felt swollen in my gray Allbirds shoes. But none of that could be helped.
Did anyone actually look good after eleven hours on a plane?
Plane sweat was a real thing, and I had a thin layer of it all over my body.
I made a face and quickly adjusted my clearly dyed light blond hair in the messy bun, then stepped into the aisle and walked toward the door.
This was it.
My adventure was officially starting.
I ignored the way my heart pounded as I trekked from the plane to the gate. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe for culture shock so strong that I’d freeze up—but it didn’t come, the paralyzing fear.
In fact, everything just looked…
Normal.
Like an airport would.
Lots of people, lots of cell phones out, and announcements over the PA that had me feeling oddly like I hadn’t landed in a different country but in a place just like home.
That feeling lasted for a total of five seconds.
Until I made my way toward baggage claim.
This wasn’t a normal airport.
Not at all.
It was insane.
Breathtaking.
High tech, forward-moving, busy.
Clean with a stark white design that screamed expensive and modern.
I gaped as I walked, looking every inch the tourist; all I needed was to pull out my phone and start snapping pictures. I held in a snort as I thought of Mom’s fanny pack—yeah, that would be a dead giveaway, wouldn’t it?
I turned in a slow, tight circle as I finally made it to baggage claim. Everything was so bright and big like the actual airport was a sculpture of pure genius architecture.
With a giant grin on my face, I found myself at baggage claim studying the various sign bearers for Siu. Dad said he would be at the airport waiting for me in baggage claim—he followed that with a ridiculously long speech about prostitution rings in foreign countries and a reminder that Ted Bundy was good-looking too. I patted him on the head and yet again reminded him that I had survived at University of Washington and knew not to take drinks from strangers, always have a buddy at every party, and make sure the Uber driver isn’t a serial killer.
I kept looking at the signs; they were all in both Korean and English, which was a small blessing, so at least I knew I was in the right place.
My mental process felt extremely slow as I searched for my name on the signs some of the drivers were holding. Would it be spelled in English? Korean? And at what point did I need to just text him and ask where he was? I had his cell number for emergencies. I chewed my lower lip and pulled out my cell just as the sound of my name rang out.
“Grace!” It was loud, feminine, definitely not Siu.
I whirled around and nearly collided with a large iPad with my name scribbled on it.
Digital.
Cool trick.
“Hi.” I offered a mini wave.
She blinked at me.
Slowly.
Like she was either having a stroke or was confused why I answered to my own name.
And then I stupidly did a little bow. “Annyeong.”
It was literally the only word I knew.
Hello.
But at least I pronounced it correctly, right? Wrong? Her eyes narrowed as she blinked even slower. Was there another Grace? Was I wrong?
I cleared my throat.
“You.” She drew out the word in English like I would struggle with my own language and needed extra time to process the meaning. “You’re Grace.”
“English, oh thank God.” I exhaled and then winced. “Sorry, my Korean is a bit sub-par.”
Understatement of the century.
“Define.” She looked irritated and panicked all in one. “A bit?”
I gulped. “I should get my suitcase.”
“Owner Siu, he said you would work out just fine, that you majored in production. I was under the assumption…” She reached for me, gripped my arm, and then released it with a blush hitting her cheeks. “We all were under the assumption that you were Korean-American.” She paused and then added. “Native.”
I frowned and almost touched my hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how bright and messy it was. “Um, I was born in Seattle, lived there my entire life. My dad and Uncle Siu are brothers, both of them were enlisted at the same time in Korea. Dad saved his life, and while we don’t really have a super close family, they’ve stayed in touch over the years. So my dad’s Korean but my mom…” I trailed off. What did a person actually say in this situation? My Korean dad fell in love with my American mom, and the rest was history? One of the greatest love stories of all time that transcended any sort of language or cultural barrier, because wasn’t that what love did? It was the first time I’d been uncomfortable in my own skin since middle school when I had girls mock my eyes or call me names behind my back like I wasn’t good enough to sit at their table. My confidence came from my parents, and then slowly, I realized I could choose to let people hurt me, choose to let the arrows dig into my skin, or I could stand taller and be better than the ones shooting them.
I chose the latter.
Not that it meant I had zero insecurities, but at least in college, I found people of every race, sexual orientation, background—and I accepted them just like they accepted me. While there was the occasional asshat, at least I was able to find friends and not panic every time I walked into the lunchroom. I shuddered. Not fitting in, no matter how great your upbringing is, always reared its ugly head whenever I was feeling out of place… Like now.
“Oh…” She looked worried. I think she was close to my age. Then again, I couldn’t tell; I immediately felt like a decade older than her. My skin would never look that perfect, and I suddenly realized I needed to get my brows waxed. My hair looked like a bird had made a nest in it then suffocated on the ratty strands. And again, plane sweat.
This girl? Her hair was pulled into a low bun with pieces falling out front; it was so shiny I would need sunglasses if I stared any longer, and I couldn’t find a flaw on any part of her perfect skin.