29 Dates

PROLOGUE

DATE NO. 29

NAME: Kang Daehyun

INTERESTS:

Debate, Environmental Science, Lacrosse, Soccer

ACCOMPLISHMENTS:

Soccer Team Captain,

Early Acceptance to Harvard

Jisu: Hey, I’m Jisu.

DaehYUN: I’m Daehyun.

Jisu: Korean name! But you’re born and raised here?

DaehYUN: Yup, and you moved from Seoul not that long ago?

Jisu: Yeah, my parents decided it would be a good idea for me to become a last-minute international student and sent me across the Pacific to San Francisco. And here we are now.

DaehYUN: I’m not even going to try to relate. I can’t imagine moving to a whole new country.

Jisu: It hasn’t been the easiest. But I’ve met people along the way who’ve made it worth it.

DaehYUN: This is gonna sound silly, but I actually feel a little nervous right now.

Jisu: For real? It’s like we’re just hanging out!

DaehYUN: I know, but it’s my first seon. Even just saying that makes it sound official and formal. And you’re making me nervous. I even asked some friends for dating tips.

Jisu: And what did they tell you?

DaehYUN: That kindness is underrated. And common likes and dislikes are key. Heavy emphasis on the common dislikes. So, you’ve been on a lot of seons, both here and in Seoul?

Jisu: Yeah, but none of them have worked out...clearly. I did meet some cool guys and I’m actually friends with some of them. But there was never really that chemistry with anyone, you know? I love meeting new people, but I’m kind of over seons, to be honest.

DaehYUN: I bet the right guy could be the end of all seons for you. You seem to know what you want.

Jisu: What do you want? What are you trying to get out of these seons?

DaehYUN: Actually, I have a girlfriend, which might really screw me up in the long run if I keep sneaking out. I’m only going on these dates to appease my mother. She kinda hates my girlfriend.

Jisu: Oh, that’s too bad. I actually thought this might go somewhere.

DaehYUN: Well, it was nice knowing ya, Jees.

Jisu: Did you just call me Jees? I hate nicknames. Especially when someone you just met assigns you one.

1

The big red 79 percent circled at the top of Kim Jisu’s history exam wasn’t what worried her. It wasn’t the fact that she had actually studied hard. It wasn’t Mrs. Han’s look of concern that made her anxious either. No, it was the disappointment on her parents’ faces that Jisu could so clearly imagine that made her want to crumple up the exam, crawl under her desk and curl into a ball. She didn’t want to let them down.

So, this is how you’re going to start the school year? Don’t you know how important senior year of high school is? How do you plan on getting accepted into a top school here, or any university in America for that matter? Even if you want to move halfway across the world, your grades still have to be strong. Jisu could practically hear her parents’ endless nagging, their jansori.

There it was in bloodred, mocking her. Only 79 percent. A solid C+! Couldn’t Mrs. Han have bumped her over by just one point so that she could squeak by with a B-? The number nine was truly the worst. Anything ending in nine for her was the height of unlucky. Close, but no cigar—almost there, but not good enough. She would’ve felt equally miserable if she’d gotten 59 percent, 69 percent or even 89 percent. Actually if I got 89 percent, I would be really happy, Jisu thought. Except that it’s just one point shy of getting a 90 percent. And anything in the nineties is close enough to 100 percent, but still not perfect! Ugh.

Her parents were the type to question even a 100 percent grade by asking why she didn’t get 110 percent—wasn’t there extra credit?

Dae-bak! Park Minjung exclaimed, smiling as she looked at her exam. I didn’t even study, she bragged.

Jisu peered at Min’s test. An 86 percent—a solid B. You didn’t need perfect scores to become a pop star, which was Min’s dream. How could Jisu have done worse than a girl whose life was dedicated to selfies and singing classes?

Jisu slid her exam into her notebook so that no one could see. If only she could retake the exam, restart the year and redo all of high school.

Jisu, don’t tell me you failed the first exam of the year, Min said as she reapplied her lip gloss.

I didn’t fail, Jisu muttered. And technically she hadn’t. One could even argue that she’d scored several points above passing. This argument, of course, would never fly with her parents.

Then how did you do? Why won’t you say what you got? Min never did know when to shut up.

Oh, Min, mind your own business, Euni chimed from behind them.

For as long as Jisu could remember, Hong Eunice had always had her back. Euni was born seven days before Jisu and, aside from that one week, the two girls had always been in each other’s lives, growing up on the same street in Daechi-dong, taking the same classes at Daewon Foreign Language High School and enduring every extracurricular activity that their parents pushed onto them. Painting, archery, French, ballet—they were privileged to be exposed to an array of arts and cultures, but more often than not, it felt too deliberate, like they were being groomed to replace their parents in society. Like a boot camp for the upper class. Academics came naturally for Euni, but not so much for Jisu. Still, every time Jisu fell behind, Euni was there to help her catch up. She was also there for her whenever Min got a little too out of hand, which was often.

This test was actually really hard, Euni said. I didn’t think I would even finish in time. She was lying through her teeth. All three of them knew that she’d gotten the highest score in the class, as she always did. Euni was a great student but a terrible liar, and Jisu loved her for it.

Jisu thought about the weekend she had wasted sitting at hagwon like a prisoner, doing her school homework and then chipping away at all the additional readings and exercises from her hagwon tutors. She could’ve walked around Gangnam alongside the Han River and taken photos on her brand new DSLR. But no, this would’ve disappointed her parents. If you spent the same amount of time studying as you do with your camera, your class ranking would be much higher. If Jisu knew anything about herself, it was that she was definitely not the academic type.

Euni, you’re lucky I don’t actually try, Min said as she checked her reflection in her compact. You would have serious competition if I ever opened one of these books.

No one would want you to. Jisu pushed the eraser end of her pencil into Min’s contoured forehead. You might grow wrinkles from thinking too much. Then you’d look like Euni and me, and no record label would ever sign you.

Euni laughed and even Min couldn’t help cracking a smile. Jisu felt better immediately. Wasn’t this how you were supposed to spend your time in high school? Enjoying time with your friends, instead of getting caught up in your anxious thoughts about the future?

Class, settle down. Mrs. Han’s booming voice cut through the chatter. This exam was a tough one, but I don’t want you to be discouraged. Senior year is the most important year. I cannot emphasize this enough. College, your career, your future—the beginning of a great new chapter is about to start. Isn’t that exciting?

It was not exciting.

It was absolutely terrifying. Jisu looked at her classmates and could imagine everyone’s future but hers. As annoying as Min could be, she was talented. Eventually her perfectly symmetrical face, with her expressive eyes and natural pout, would be plastered over every bus and subway stop in Seoul as part of a major ad campaign for her hit album. It was only a matter of time. Euni’s perfect grades meant Harvard or Seoul National University for sure. Then there was the rest of them—there were rumors that Lee Taeyang would follow his brothers’ footsteps to Oxford. Choi Sungmi was a shoo-in for Yonsei, one of the top universities in Seoul, while Kang Joowon had spent the last three summers playing cello at the prestigious Interlochen Arts Program, making strides with his fellow camp members in securing admission to Juilliard. And everyone knew Kim Heechan was flunking, but he was from a chaebol family, so a generous donation would get him into Seoul National University and he’d eventually take over the family business.

But Jisu? What was next for her?

Her phone buzzed, alerting her to an email from Ms. Moon, the Matchmaker. Aka the Matseon Queen. Ms. Moon came from a family of matchmakers. It could easily be argued that Ms. Moon, her mother and her aunt were collectively responsible for the social infrastructure of Seoul’s upper class.

Ms. Moon was well into her sixties, but her excellent psychological profiling skills, along with the consistent pulse she had on pop culture and trending topics, had made her successful in pairing off couples in their late twenties and thirties left and right, for several decades and counting.

After a long streak of success, Ms. Moon had recently turned her attention to a slightly younger crowd. Rumor had it that a certain matriarchal head of a chaebol family was behind this additional business venture. Ms. Moon had found the perfect match for her son, a fairly easy task given that he was one of the most eligible bachelors of Seoul: handsome, charming and heir to the lucrative family business. But the concern was with the beautiful but painfully shy and introverted daughter. She was a senior in high school, the baby of the family and a target for suitors whose sole intention was to seduce their way into the family business.

If you asked her, Ms. Moon would probably agree that the end of high school and start of college was too early a time to look for a life partner, but she’d also tell you that it was never too late to get yourself acquainted with the right crowd, which really translated to the crowd approved by socialite and social-climbing parents.

As long as the status-obsessed parents of Seoul were willing to pay for someone to keep tabs on their children’s social lives, Ms. Moon was willing to provide that service.

Dear Jisu,

This is a courtesy reminder of your seon with Lee Taemin tonight at 7:00 p.m. at the 10 Corso Como Café. Taemin’s one-sheet is attached again for your review. Please confirm receipt of this email. I hope the two of you have a wonderful time.

Warm wishes,

Ms. Moon

Ughhhh. Another seon.

Earlier in the year Mrs. Kim had heard whisperings from her friends about Ms. Moon expanding her clientele. Mrs. Kim was unlike the other mothers in that she was still working full-time even though, as her socialite peers would say, their family didn’t necessarily have to be a two-income household. Working as a head data analyst at the Han Group wasn’t quite the same as taking three-hour lunches and planning elaborate charity functions, but she loved her job and that was reason enough to stay. Still, Mrs. Kim subscribed to all the other rules of society, especially ones that concerned the raising of her only child, and signed Jisu up for Ms. Moon’s matchmaking service.

Sure, it was icky to so blatantly climb up and maintain your place in society, especially through your own child, but no one was above such gestures if they worked. Even Jisu’s lifelong friendship with Euni had started with each of their parents cautiously eyeing and inquiring about the others. This was the world that they lived in. And so Mrs. Kim sent Jisu on seons all summer in the hopes that she might snatch a promising boyfriend who would fit in with her promising friends, who would turn into a promising fiancé, who would then become a promising husband and complete every Korean mother’s idea of a picture-perfect life for her daughter.

But summer had come to an end and Jisu had not made a love match. Another flop.

Socializing with the right people is just as important as getting into a top university. Her mother’s nagging jansori was inescapable. Her parents’ voices were like buzzing mosquitos that wouldn’t leave her alone. But she had no choice other than to comply. The Matseon Matchmaker was highly selective about which clients she took on and certainly not cheap. With Jisu’s not-so-promising high school transcript, her parents likely had pulled some strings to get her on the exclusive client list. Jisu hadn’t asked for any of this; her parents were doing it all for her. And if she did want anything, it was to be a good daughter. To make all their efforts worth it.

You have another date? Euni asked. I thought your mom said the seons were just for the summer.

Yeah, but none of them turned into anything, which was definitely not my mother’s plan. Jisu opened the email attachment.

LEE TAEMIN. Occupation: Studio art student with focus in sculpture. Education: Seoul Institute of the Arts (full scholarship; first solo art exhibit to happen early next year).

It was impressive, like the others, and went on and on with a list of his accomplishments. Jisu cringed at the thought of whatever overload of information her mother had sent to Ms. Moon so she could put together her profile.

Kim Jisu. Average student. Pretty enough (Min’s makeup lessons helped). No real accomplishments (she is seventeen—give her a break).

The truth was she was just an ordinary, average teen. She liked all the things many girls her age liked—selfies, slime videos on Instagram, rom-coms, candy. And disliked the same things everyone disliked—acne, rude people, Instagram ads for ugly clothes emblazoned with empowering statements. (Seriously, who were they kidding with the $800 The Future is Female T-shirts?)

Cute boys were in the plus column for sure, but some of the seon guys she met were so serious that, even if they were cute, it almost didn’t matter. Her father liked to joke that any guy with an expensive car was handsome, after which her mother would quip that it wasn’t so much about a guy with an expensive car as it was about a guy who could afford a car as expensive as yours.

Are you sure you’re just not being picky? Euni teased. What happened to the one with the restaurateur parents?

Oh, I remember that one. He was cute! Min said. If you didn’t like him, you should’ve set him up with me. A nationally beloved songstress and the heir to Korea’s top restaurants—we’d be an amazing power couple.

I don’t know, Min. He was kind of full of himself and kept checking out his reflection. But that’s something you guys have in common, so maybe it would work out! Jisu laughed.

What does the guy you’re seeing tonight look like? Euni reached for Jisu’s phone. Isn’t there a photo that comes with the résumé?

Wait, the date is tonight? Min asked. "I got us those tickets to this week’s Music Bank taping. You guys said you were coming with me!" She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic, heavy sigh.

Jisu and Euni exchanged a guilty glance. They had promised. And unlike the poorly attended open mics and overcrowded celebrity meet-and-greets that Min usually dragged her friends to, Music Bank was actually an exciting show that Euni and Jisu looked forward to. Many of their favorite pop stars would be performing back-to-back. Jisu always watched it on TV, but the thought of being at the studio, right there with her favorite artists, filled her with excitement.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Jisu, can’t you just reschedule? Euni tapped Jisu’s phone and enlarged the attached headshot. Or cancel? Euni frowned. He’s not that cute anyway.

Jisu grabbed her phone back and looked at the picture on the screen. She wished for a reaction—her heart beating faster, a tiny stomach flip, anything. But her body remained static. There was nothing. He wasn’t not cute. He just looked like every other squeaky-clean, accomplished, coiffed son of a well-off family.

Sorry, Ms. Moon. I need to reschedule. I have hagwon until late in the evening today.

Jisu hit Send and felt a wave of relief. She had spent the whole summer going on dead-end dates and had wasted last weekend studying for a test she would’ve never aced. One night of fun couldn’t hurt.

When Jisu stepped out of the elevator and into her family’s apartment, she was relieved to see that all the lights were out. She carefully removed her shoes in the foyer and slid into her house slippers. From the top floor of their apartment in Daechi-dong, Jisu could see the rest of the Gangnam neighborhood below her. A stream of traffic lit up the Dongbu Expressway. The red-and-white lights of buses, trucks and cars ambled alongside the shimmering waters of the Tancheon.

It was way too late to say that she was coming home from hagwon. She had texted out a full, elaborate lie five different ways before simply letting her parents know she was seeing a late movie with her friends. That was all it took for them to believe her.

Jisu’s ears were still ringing from the concert, which only exaggerated the complete silence surrounding her. Every creak of the wooden floor loudly announced her presence. She held her breath, crept into the living room and peeked at the white leather couch to make sure her father hadn’t fallen asleep there while waiting for her to come home. She exhaled quietly. He wasn’t there, slouched on one side like he was sometimes. As she made her way into the kitchen, she imagined her mother seated at one of the high stools with her arms crossed atop the cold marble island top. Don’t be awake. Please don’t be awake. But there was no night-light left on, and neither parent was waiting for her. Thank god.

Jisu grabbed a sheet mask from the fridge and scurried to her room. Finally. After placing her phone and camera on her nightstand and changing into pajamas, she crawled into her bed and sprawled her limbs out, as if to stretch and rid her body of the entire weight of the day.

Her phone vibrated. It was a text from Min.

Jisu!! Did you get home safe?

Usually Euni was the one who checked to make sure everyone safely returned home.

Also don’t forget to send me the photos from tonight!

Jisu smiled. Of course. Min really just wanted the photos. Jisu sat up, ripped open the sheet mask package and then aligned the mask on her face so that she could properly see and breath out of the eye and nose cutouts. The refreshing smell of cucumber and aloe almost immediately put Jisu at ease. The mask was nice and cold and would reduce any puffiness in her features, eliminating evidence of how late she’d stayed out. She caught her reflection in the mirror and laughed. Looking like a wide-eyed and extremely innocent killer from Friday the 13th was never not hilarious.

She lay down again so that the sheet mask wouldn’t slide off her face. Holding her camera directly over her head, Jisu scrolled through her photos. Min dancing, Euni laughing. All the shots of Min were perfectly posed, but somehow still looked candid. How many selfies did it take for her to figure out her best angles? Euni, the stay-home-and-watch-a-movie type, looked like she’d had fun, too. And of course there were the shameless selfies. The three of them cheesing hard, having a good time. Why did having a fun night with friends have to feel so illicit? What was the point of killing yourself to have a happy, successful life—whatever that meant—if you couldn’t relax once in a while?

And who got to define what a happy and successful future looked like?

There was no greater failure than being a senior at Daewon High School and not knowing your five-year plan.

Jisu’s eyelids grew heavy. She took off her sheet mask, pressed the cold cucumber and aloe goo into her skin and fell fast asleep.

When Jisu stepped into the kitchen the next morning and found her parents seated at the dining table with stern looks on their faces, every drop of euphoria from the night before evaporated into thin air. Her limbs grew heavy, and making her way to the table felt like dragging a ton of bricks. She was caught. Of course they knew. How could she have thought for a second that she’d get away with it? Jisu seated herself at the table and braced for impact.

"I hope the Music Bank concert was fun, because that is the last one you will be going to," Mrs. Kim said as she dipped a spoon into her cup and stirred the tea. Straight to the point. As always. Had Jisu’s parents had her followed? It honestly wouldn’t be surprising if they had.

Min wants to be a silly pop star, so at least it makes sense for her to go. Mrs. Kim turned to her husband, talking to him as if their daughter wasn’t sitting right in front of them. I’m surprised Euni went. Usually she is good about these things. Her mother will not be happy to hear about this.

Jisu gritted her teeth. She could take her mother’s endless jansori, but she couldn’t stand it when she dared to talk about her friends.

"Oh, so now you’re upset? Mrs. Kim stared at Jisu, whose clenched jaw was probably telegraphing attitude problem to her mother. Now that you’ve been caught ignoring your responsibilities and coming home late, but not when you barely passed your first exam of the school year?" Jisu’s exam was still in her backpack, which she’d had with her all night. Her mother must have called Mrs. Han.

Umma, please. I wasn’t happy with my score either, Jisu protested. She looked down at her folded hands. But it wasn’t that low of a score. I am really trying. I’ll do better on the next one. I’m sorry I can’t be perfect.

Perfect? Her mother sighed. No one is asking you to be perfect. It would be more than enough for you to score higher than your class average. But apparently even that is too much to ask.

Her father placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder as if putting a brake on his wife’s anger. Jisu’s father was the calm, rational one between the two of them. These were the roles they played: Mrs. Kim as the mother whose standards were as high as her emotions were strong, Mr. Kim as the father whose disappointment was quiet, but just as devastating, and of course Jisu as the disappointing daughter.

And the seon that you missed... Mrs. Kim sighed again. A lot of time and energy goes into preparing these meetings. When you blow one off, it’s disrespectful to Ms. Moon. It’s disrespectful to your date. It’s disrespectful to us.

Jisu’s chest tightened, and all of a sudden it felt hard to breathe. Her arms tensed as if they were wrapped up in a straitjacket. Doing well in school, getting into a good college... Jisu could understand why her parents put pressure on her with academics. But orchestrating her love life was taking their obsessive parenting to the next level. She wanted to scream, but frustration paralyzed her. She could only muster a few words.

Umma, I spent the whole summer going to every single seon. I only asked to reschedule yesterday’s. Jisu dared to look at her mother. "What if I don’t want to meet anyone through some arranged matchmaker?"

You want a perfect romance to fall into your lap?

Isn’t that what happened with you and Appa? That’s literally the story of how you guys met, Jisu shot back.

She was right. Her mother had been walking across campus when she was knocked over by a group of students protesting the bloody outcome of the Gwangju Uprising. The protest was led by none other than Mr. Kim. Jisu’s mother had just checked out an armful of books on the Medici family for her research on the birth of entrepreneurship in art, and they were strewn about on the ground. By the time Jisu’s father picked up each one, he’d gathered enough courage to ask her on a date.

But that was a long time ago. Mrs. Kim was no longer an art-history scholar, and Mr. Kim’s protesting days were long behind him. Jisu wondered if her parents ever remembered their past selves. She saw glimpses when her mother would take her to the latest gallery opening and actually observe and talk to her about the art instead of eyeing each person who entered the space. But those were only glimpses; her parents were entirely different people now.

Mrs. Kim furrowed her brows and placed her hands on her temples. Finding a partner today holds the same kind of importance as finding a job. Do you think meeting someone who comes from a good family and has a great education just like you is as easy as bumping into them on the street? Mrs. Kim cupped Jisu’s face in her hands. Jisu-ya, listen to me. Nothing happens if you sit around and wait. Nothing will work until you do. Every decision you make now affects your future. With school, even with the seons.

Jisu, we are supporting you in every way we can, Mr. Kim chimed in, making his best diplomatic effort. He was always the olive branch between Jisu and her mother. Jisu knew in her heart that her parents wanted her to be happy. She knew that her own optimism and faith in the world were