Stand Up, Yumi Chung! by Jessica Kim

Author:Jessica Kim [Kim, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2020-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

It’s Sunday before lunch service, and I’m helping Dad install the new disco ball he ordered from the internet.

“Feels good for construction to be finished,” Dad says, climbing up the ladder. “Look at this stage. Isn’t it great?”

“I have to admit, it’s really cool.” The soft lighting on the raised wooden platform fills out the entire back area, giving our restaurant a cozy focal point.

“Karaoke will be a hit with the new customers.” He grabs a heavy-duty power tool from his leather holster. “It will bring back good fortune for our family.”

It’s a relief to see him smile again. He hasn’t talked about it much to me, but it’s clear by the way he stomps around the restaurant that he’s still upset about how things went down with Yuri.

Earlier today, I overheard him talking to Manuel. “Twenty years I raised her, but she will not even answer my phone calls. So ungrateful!” Which only got Manuel going about his teenage niece, who barely looks up from her phone when he comes home from work. Luckily, their little vent session broke when the workers finally finished up construction. He’s been distracted by getting the stage ready ever since. This is the best mood I’ve seen him in in days.

“So how does this disco ball work?” I ask Dad.

He perks up. “Let me show you.” He hits a button on the remote and the sparkly globe glitters as it rotates, dappling the wall of traditional brush paintings with festive dots of lights.

I hoist myself up onstage.

“Oooooh, it really transforms the place!” I spin around with my arms outstretched. “I feel like I’m on American Idol.”

“Right?” He leans the ladder against the wall and admires the disco ball.

I grip the microphone from the stand. “Ladies and gentlemen, the multitalented restaurateur-slash-singer superstar . . . Mr. Bong Ju Chung!”

My dad, the ultimate karaoke king, cannot refuse the microphone. He takes it in both hands and belts out his go-to song, an old classic Korean folk a cappella.

“Ho-rang nabi han maree gaaaaaaa ggot baht-te anjan-undeeeeeee,” he sings in perfect pitch.

“I thought it wasn’t good to show off.” I giggle.

“Who is showing off? This is just how I sing. I cannot help,” Dad says, playing dumb.

Mom rolls her eyes as she plops into an empty booth with a cardboard box in her arms.

“You two stop being foolish and help me. Mr. Montgomery is going to be here soon.”

She says it sternly, but the corners of her eyes turn up warmly as she rolls plastic utensils and disposable chopsticks into napkin bundles for today’s to-go orders.

“I dedicate this song to my best-dressed wife, who makes most delicious food in Koreatown.” Then he croons a Korean love song, showing off his silky tenor.

Mom runs her fingers through her hair. “Aigoo cham-nah.” Which means something similar to “oh, come on, now.” Dad’s romancing seems to be working, because pretty soon, Mom is clapping along with the beat as he sings.

My parents’ lovey-dovey mood is cute, but only in small doses.

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