Chapter 1

Sara Yoo would be the death of me someday.

My mother and I were having dinner at her favorite restaurant as we did once a week—unless she said otherwise because, yes, she was the boss of me—and it never failed to be an exercise in embarrassment and futility on my behalf.

“Mom!” I hissed, hoping she’d take the hint while knowing she wouldn’t. She never did.

I prayed my face wasn’t tomato-red as I listened to the woman who gave birth to me inform the new male server—quite loudly—that I was thirty-five, single, and in need of sex and a boyfriend, in that order.

“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” she asked, her innocent smile anything but.

Naturally, the man looked at her as though she had snakes for hair, and instead of turning to stone, he quickly placed our food on the table before running away. He was likely straight, though his retreatingform wasn’t bad to ogle. Which meant I was as desperate as my mom had implied.

I sighed and picked up a fork to focus on eating. When Sara was lucky and her target actually responded to her efforts to pimp me out, the victim in question often gave me a pitying smile, looked me over from head to toe, and found me wanting.

A couple of times, I’d gone out with the men my mom had foisted on me, if only to shut her up, and the dates had been disasters of epic proportions. It never went past a one-night stand, if I was that lucky.

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate Sara’s over-enthusiastic attempts to find me someone. She’d been happily married to my dad for twelve years before his heart gave out, and she wanted me to find a love like she’d had. I just resented the idea that she thought I couldn’t do it myself, though that seemed true enough after all this time.

I loved my mother. She was the best, but she didn’t know when to quit. As she tried to corner another member of the wait staff, I’d had it.

“Mom, enough already,” I snapped.

She sniffed delicately. “You’re in a fine mood, I see. Rough day at work?” She sipped her water. “I don’t know what the problem is. You’re cute as a button, though you could smile more, and you have an excellent job, perfect skin and no halitosis. What’s not to like?” The bar was high, wasn’t it?

“I’m too short, too Asian, too thin, too old, not Korean-enough…need I go on?” I stabbed a piece of potato on my plate and stuffed it into my mouth. I was whiny and pathetic, but after trying for so long, I was tired.

“Nonsense,” she replied. “And what do you mean, ‘too Asian’? What’s wrong with being Korean?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I noticed, then, that she had a new hairstyle, very chic. Sara was beautiful, but she seemed to have a glow about her, too. I wondered…But I was getting distracted.

“Nothing’s wrong with that. I just meant that some people—”

“It’s all in your attitude,” she continued, talking over me. “Your father’s parents were first generation Korean and spoke no English when they came to this country. My great-grandparents prospered, despite the language barrier. You should be proud of your roots. Determination is the key. ‘Try, try again,’ I always say.” It had been the mantra of my childhood.

“Right, because you went out of your way to make me as Korean as possible,” I retorted sarcastically. “I don’t even speak the language, Mom. The last Korean-American guy I went out with a couple of years ago was offended at my lack of knowledge about the land of my ancestors. I’m a freak to people with a similar background, not to mention everyone else I’ve gone out with. And forget about the long hours I work. That tends to stop things in their tracks.”

Sara sighed. “I wanted the best for you, Hanson. I didn’t want you to be stigmatized in any way. You’re as American as I could make you.”

“Isn’t America supposed to be a melting pot of cultures? Live and let live?” It was an old argument. “You mean well, Mom, but I want you to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t say that! The perfect man for you is right around the corner, and I will find him if it’s the last thing I ever do on this earth.” She kept on talking, and the more she said, the angrier I became.

“Sara!” I finally yelled, and the entire restaurant heard me. Mom looked hurt, but at least I had her attention. “I mean it. I’m done with men, and I don’t want you to interfere anymore.”

“But Hanson…”

I raised my hand. Thankfully, she shut up, though her displeasure was evident. And she pouted, which was a powerful weapon. I remained firm.