Page 26

JULIE

Our family takes almost a month off from our booth to regroup after the spinach incident. Ahma decides to switch to a new vegetable farmer, so we spend our weekends driving out to Palmdale to meet different ones. Then, Tyler finds an organic farmer in Oakland who specifically grows Asian vegetables.

That’s how I find myself on an airplane to the Bay Area sitting next to Randall. The rest of our families are scattered throughout the plane.

Randall nestles into me. I kiss the top of his head.

As the plane takes off, Randall leans over me to look out the window. I giggle.

“Do you want the window seat?” I ask.

“It’s all yours.”

“You’re practically in my lap.”

“I thought you liked that,” says Randall with a sly smile.

I respond by pulling him closer to my body. I ruffle his hair. Randall rests his head on my shoulder.

During the plane ride, I read while Randall sleeps on me. Tyler is in the aisle and waves to get my attention.

“How much do you want to bet that Ahma and Halmeoni are going to be back to best friends by the end of this trip?” asks Tyler.

“The next month of washing dishes.”

“You’re on,” says Tyler.

Our deal is made. I secretly hope that Tyler is right, but I can’t expect that five years of fights and resentments will end in just one trip to a farm.

When we land at the Oakland airport, I nudge Randall awake. He is dead asleep. Bears hibernating would be easier to wake.

I stand up to search for Mercy. I point at Randall’s slumbering body. “What do I do?”

Mercy smiles. “Lean in close to his ear and whisper his name.”

“Seriously?”

I do as Mercy says and lo and behold Randall pops his head up like a meerkat.

“How is it that I poke you and you don’t budge, but I whisper your name and you wake up like a siren is going off?” I ask.

Randall blinks at me, rubbing his eyes. “I have zero explanation other than I like the sound of your voice.”

Sunshine floods through me at the way he looks at me. I kiss Randall’s cheek, then scoop up his hand.

“Come on. We gotta go,” I say.

A shuttle van meets us in the transportation area. A guy in a white collared shirt and a black cap holds up a sign: Wu/Hur Family. I can’t help but smile at the piece of paper. I would’ve never dreamed that I’d see both of our names together ever again.

We pile into the van, letting the grandmothers have the first row of seats. I exchange a glance with Tyler, wondering how this will go.

Mercy, Tyler, Randall, and I squish together in the back seats, just like when we were kids and went on joint family vacations to places like Monterey Bay or Santa Barbara.

Mercy digs into her backpack and pulls out a bag of White Rabbit candy.

Tyler laughs. “You know I’m going to eat that whole bag, right?”

“And that’s why I’m holding it,” says Mercy. She doles out pieces of the wrapped candy to each of us.

I unwrap mine, making sure to keep the clear rice paper wrap around it in place. I pop it in my mouth and chew on it slowly. It tastes creamy and sweet. The rice paper dissolves on my tongue.

Tyler tries to sneak the bag away from Mercy, but she has a firm grip on it.

“Why are you so freakishly strong?” asks Tyler.

“Don’t mess with my candy,” declares Mercy. She smacks his hand hard.

“Ow! Ahma, Mercy hit me,” complains Tyler.

My grandmother doesn’t even look back. “Good.”

“What?” crows Tyler.

“Thanks, Ahma,” says Mercy.

I look over at Randall, who is smiling. This scene feels familiar, like countless car trips with the same fights when we were kids, and yet, here we are holding hands. Our thighs touch. I can’t help but stare at Randall’s long eyelashes. Everything is the same and different at the same time.

RANDALL

We get stuck in 880 freeway traffic, but I don’t really care.

I don’t think Halmeoni wants me to notice, but she and Ahma are talking again. Not like they used to, with big belly laughs and teasing, but there is no scorn in their words. It’s more like two people meeting on a bus and exchanging pleasantries. It’s a start.

Julie rests her head against my shoulder. Her nose brushes against my neck. Mercy and Tyler are still arguing about the White Rabbit candy. God, this is so seventh grade. I love it.

Mercy bends over to wrestle through her backpack. She pulls out another bag of the white candy and tosses it at Tyler. He catches it.

“There. Will you shut up now?” asks Mercy.

“Is this just for me?”

“Yes. I got you your own bag so you’d stop hogging mine.”

Tyler wraps his arm around Mercy. “You do love me.”

She bops him on his head. “Don’t get it twisted.”

Halmeoni turns back to look at Tyler. “Can I have one?”

Tyler opens the bag and hands the wrapped candy to Halmeoni and Ahma. Ahma chews hers slowly. Halmeoni loudly sucks on it, smacking her lips together.

“I forgot how loud you can be when you eat,” says Ahma.

For a second, the van is completely silent. The four of us exchange glances. Are they going to start fighting again? But to our relief, Halmeoni bursts into a fit of giggles and proceeds to make louder noises with her eating.

“No more candy for her,” says Ahma.

Ahma nudges Halmeoni. “You got this candy stuck in your molar.”

Halmeoni nods several times. “I called you and you couldn’t understand me. You thought I was choking.”

“I almost called 911 until you spit it out,” says Ahma.

“You tried to save my life,” says Halmeoni.

“That’s the last time I’ll ever do that,” retorts Ahma.

Then, the two of them roll into an easy laughter. The five years of discord slowly dissolve in front of us. The four of us stare in complete disbelief, like someone just told us that dinosaurs are alive right now.

JULIE

Randall squeezes my hand. I turn my attention to him. He leans close and whispers in my ear. I feel electric.

“I love you.”

I bury my face in my hands. My cheeks are warm. Of all the places to tell me, Randall has to pick the middle of a shuttle van surrounded by our families.

I nod, turning away because I have this stupid grin on my face. I’ll be a dead giveaway to Tyler, who will know just by looking at me.

I tuck Randall’s hand close to my waist. His hand settles there. I trace the words, “I love you too,” on his hand, slowly and deliberately so he understands. His smile matches mine.

Tyler and Mercy are now arguing about who has a better score in Mario Kart . I don’t even bother to tell them to quiet down because I love hearing them bicker again about something that’s not important at all.

RANDALL

The van takes us up a dirt road. There are acres of greens in neat rows and deep trenches that run along the ground. A yellow tractor sits idle. When I step out and touch down in the earthy dirt, I instantly feel at home. I inhale the air and love the way it smells like earth, dirt, and vegetables.

I hold out a hand to Halmeoni, who slowly shuffles sideways out of the front row. She pats my hand and Mercy takes over. I offer my hand to Ahma, who gives me a curt nod.

Next, Julie hops down. Her thick tan wedge shoes immediately sink into the dirt. I grab ahold of her hand as she wobbles adorably, like a toddler learning to walk.

“You okay?”

She leans into me, weaving her arm through mine. For a second, I have an ounce of fear that our family is watching. But they know now. I don’t have to hide. My fear disappears into the dirt.

A tall half-Asian guy in jeans and a worn-out green T-shirt greets us. His long, light brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

“The Wu and Hur families?” he asks.

I reach out a hand. “I’m Randall Hur. This is my girlfriend, Julie Wu.”

It’s nice to say it out loud. I want to find a reason to say it again.

“Nice to meet you all. I’m Adrian. Welcome to Hapa Heritage Farms.”

He walks toward a truck bearing a pull-along wagon attachment filled with seats.

“Hop in. The tour starts now,” says Adrian.

Adrian and Tyler assist our grandmothers up the steps into the back of the wagon, where there are rows of benches. Julie sits next to me. Her shoes are caked in dirt. She looks completely out of place here and I love it.

Adrian drives us along his family’s property as he tells us what is growing.

“I’ve got gai lan growing there. Baby bok choy is our best-selling produce, so we dedicate several rows to it. Over there, you’ll see tatsoi.”

I feel like a kid in a candy store. I want to touch it all. I’m itching to get out of the van.

Finally, Adrian makes a pit stop in front of a section of the farm that has a butcher block table with several metal folding chairs right behind it. Once we’re all out of the van, we sit down.

Adrian pulls out silver bowls of sprouts and bundles of greens. He slices into a verdant green baby bok choy. It’s so crisp you can hear it crunch on the cutting board.

He hands out samples to us. I bite into it and close my eyes. It bursts with water and a slight bitter taste.

“I’ve never tasted such a fresh baby bok choy.”

Adrian nods. “Most baby bok choy has been imported from another country, but we grow ours year-round. With the weather in the Bay Area, we get plenty of rain and sun to grow the entire year.”

Halmeoni says in Korean, “What kind of Korean vegetables does he have?”

Adrian smiles and answers back in Korean, “Minari, mugwort, and chrysanthemum greens.”

Adrian and Halmeoni get in a passionate discussion about minari. I can tell Julie is getting bored with the vegetable TED Talk. I take her hand and lead her to the row of ssukgat. I bend down and gesture for her to follow my lead.

She does. I run my fingers along the tall green stalks with flat broad leaves. I gently rub the outside of it.

“You can get the scent of a plant by gently touching its leaves.”

Julie imitates me and gingerly touches the stalks. She brings her fingertips to her nose. I don’t know why I think it is so inexplicably cute, but it is. She inhales, and her expression changes.

“That smells grassy and sweet,” says Julie.

“Exactly.”

I stand up, using my right hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight beaming down on us. I survey the vast fields in front of us.

“This is my dream,” I say.

Julie tilts her head. “How so?”

“To grow all the vegetables that I grew up eating and harvest them straight from the ground.”

Julie wraps her arms around me, placing her chin on my shoulder.

“You could work here someday. Maybe even a summer internship?”

“I never thought about that.”

“I’m sure Adrian could use an extra set of hands out here. Ask him before we leave.”

I pull her into a kiss. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“Duh. Of course I know that. I’m glad it’s finally occurring to you now,” says Julie.

I tickle her belly. She breaks into giggles, and it’s such a melodious sound that I tickle her stomach to keep her laughing.

Julie pushes my hands away. “Stop it.”

I hold my hands up in surrender.

“Gotcha!” she shouts as she launches a tickle attack on me.

I run, careful not to trod on the plants around me, and hide behind a row of tall sunflowers, but Julie finds me quickly. I let her descend on me.

We fall into the dirt. Her on top of me. She plants a kiss on me. Our tongues touch.

“Ugh. Tyler, they’re here,” says Mercy.

Mercy stands over us, arms crossed, looking bored. Tyler joins her and reaches out for Julie’s hand.

“Come on. Adrian has a whole meal ready for us when you two stop pawing at each other,” says Tyler.

“And I’m starving,” says Mercy, marching ahead of us.

Julie takes Tyler’s hand and brushes dirt off her legs. I scramble to get up and follow the group.

Mercy practically runs to the picnic area with an extra long wooden table. Along the middle of the table, there are dozens of bowls full of food.

“I’d like you all to meet my parents,” says Adrian. “This is my father, Tae Sop Lee, and my mom, Debby Sibonney.”

We shake hands with a white woman and a Korean man who are dressed in matching dark green Hapa Heritage Farms polo shirts.

“Please help yourselves,” says Tae Sop.

You don’t have to ask me twice. I scoop up a pair of silver chopsticks that are engraved with the farm’s name and fill my plate with a mixture of Korean dishes and big salads.

I reach for a beautiful fruit platter lined with sliced persimmons, star fruit, and a sprinkling of pomegranate seeds. I gather a little bit of everything.

“This spread is amazing,” I say.

“Thank you,” says Debby. “Everything on your plates except for the meat was grown right here on this farm.”

I sit down next to Julie and dig into the food. I close my eyes and revel in the fresh taste of each vegetable and fruit.

Julie squeezes my thigh. I finish my bite and smile at her.

“I know you had some issues with Farrell Farms and the quality of spinach,” says Tae Sop. “It happens at farms unfortunately. What I can promise is that we are a family-run business. We eat what we grow so we know before you do if something is not right with our produce.”

Halmeoni nods, still chewing. She clears her throat. “It’s been a long time since I tasted minari that tastes as fresh as this. We are a family-run business too and that is important to us.”

Ahma puts down her chopsticks. “We are also family-run, but that also means that our budgets are not as big as high-end restaurants that can promise you huge weekly orders.”

Tae Sop nods. “I understand. We do provide produce for a range of businesses, which allows us to accommodate smaller operations like yourselves.”

Halmeoni taps Ahma’s shoulders.

“Can you give us a minute?” asks Ahma.

“Of course,” says Debby.

The grandmothers walk away from the table with their heads bent together. I share a side glance with Julie. It’s clear that they are discussing business. The first time I’ve seen them talk like this since the failed restaurant.

Tyler gets up to get seconds. “Merce, can I get you more?”

Mercy nods. “Yes. The maeuntang. And a pile of persimmons please.”

“You got it,” says Tyler.

I nudge Julie and whisper. “Tyler and Mercy getting along. Our grandmothers discussing business. Are pigs flying now?”

Julie looks up at the sky with a huge grin on her face, shielding her eyes with her hand. “Yup.”

We share a smile, then continue eating. Adrian comes to our side of the table with a platter of yaksik. I clap my hands in delight.

“My favorite snack!” I declare.

Adrian hands out the sticky rice rolls, dotted with red jujubes and chunky pieces of chestnut. I grab one and peel away the plastic wrap. Julie takes one and does the same.

I love the way the sticky rice has a hint of sesame oil and caramel from the brown sugar. I love the way it sticks to my teeth.

“My dad makes a big batch of yaksik on the weekends so we can snack on them all week long,” says Adrian.

“I tried to make these once,” admits Julie.

“I didn’t know that,” I say.

“It was after…” She trails off. I can fill in the blanks.

“I missed eating the homemade ones that your grandmother made, so I found a recipe online. I burnt the sticky rice so badly that it took me weeks to scrub the rice cooker pot clean.”

Adrian laughs. “Don’t feel too bad. My dad won’t let me anywhere the kitchen to make them after I started a small kitchen fire.”

At the mention of fire, I see Julie slip into silence. The look on her face tells me she’s going back to that day.

“I’m in charge of the banchan. Cold dishes only,” says Adrian.

I have to get her back to the present.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.

Adrian points to a blue Porta Potty about twenty-five feet away. I scrunch my nose, but get up anyway.

“Do you have to go too?” I ask Julie. She absentmindedly nods yes.

She and I walk to the Porta Potty. When we are a safe distance away from the picnic table, Julie says, “You hate Porta Potties.”

“I do. I don’t need to actually go, but I wanted to step away. Everything okay? You got strangely silent when Adrian mentioned a kitchen fire.”

Julie shakes her head, toeing the dirt with the tip of her wedge heel. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

She nods. I don’t push. She goes into the Porta Potty. I don’t dare. I hate how they smell.

I wait and watch Halmeoni and Ahma sit back down together. They start a discussion with the farmer owners. The convo must be going well because everyone is smiling, nodding, and shaking hands.

Julie emerges. I point at our grandmothers.

“Looks like it’s going well.” Julie doesn’t respond. “There’s that look again. Come on. Something is bothering you. You’ve never been quiet about what pisses you off before.”

Julie slowly walks back to the picnic table. She crosses her arms.

“I thought you’d be happy that they’re getting along,” I say.

Suddenly, she places her hands on my arms. “What if it happens again?”

“The fire?”

“No,” she sighs exasperatedly. “Cutting us out of your lives. Sure, they’re getting along now, but what if they disagree and your grandmother stops talking to mine?”

We are a few hundred feet away from our families. I lift Julie’s downward chin so we are eye to eye.

Julie continues, “I hated seeing how upset she got in the days after. It was like she was frozen. She’d forget to eat. Tyler and I would find her in her nightgown in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I had no idea.”

“We tried to take her to senior social events, but she’d always make an excuse of why she couldn’t go. It got to the point that Tyler and I wondered if she’d ever leave the house again.”

I look over at Ahma now. She’s laughing and patting my grandmother’s hand. I’ve never seen her unhappy before.

“She blamed herself for the fire and the end of their friendship. No matter what I say, even now she feels the same way.”

I can see that Julie is near tears. She, like me, worries about her grandmother.

“Hey,” I say. “Maybe it’s time they talked about it.”

Julie’s eyes go wide. “You know they’d never do that.”

“I never thought we’d be able to date,” I counter.

Julie nods. “How would we even do that?”

“Trust me,” I say. “I’ve got it.”

Julie finally smiles. She wraps her arm around me. “Okay. Let’s try.”

We walk back together to the dining table. There are plates with stacks of strawberry shortcakes waiting for us. Everyone is digging in.

“We couldn’t wait for you two to stop flirting,” says Mercy. She closes her eyes. “These strawberries and cream are heavenly.”

Julie and I join them in polishing off the dessert. Around us, there is easy laughter, forks scraping up the remains on dessert plates, and constant chatter.

I haven’t taken a bite yet. A slightly queasy feeling overtakes my stomach. How am I going to get two stubborn-as-mules older Asian women to talk about their painful past when our families can barely talk about fights we had last week?

I made a promise to Julie, but inside, I am freaking out that I won’t be able to deliver.

Our entire relationship depends on this. No big deal.