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switch more than once when I didn’t like her orders. I learned to do as she said from a tiny age, but I also went to her for comfort.
    “I was raised by my grandmother,” I said, surprising myself. “My father was too busy running the family business, and my mother had to entertain clients. After the IMF crisis, we lost everything.”
    “What is IMF?” Indigo picked, absently, at the piece of kimchi on her plate. I longed to place it in her mouth and watch her wince from the unexpected sharp spiciness.
    “What is?” It took me a moment to understand. “IMF? The International Monetary Fund? In 1997?” At each inquiry, she shook her head, looking more and more confused. “My country had loans, a staggering amount, and couldn’t pay. The financial crisis killed the economy and threw countless people out of work. My father….” I shook myself. This wasn’t the place or time, and yet this foreign girl made me tell things I had never said before. “I begged my father not to send me away to the country, where Halmoni lived, but he told me Seoul was no longer a place for children. When I came back three years later, my classmates laughed at my country accent and lack of academic progress.” I smiled, even though the memories brought pain. “ Halmoni taught me to catch a fish with my bare hands, to cook, and to gather wild herbs and plants.”
    “I grew up in a town of four hundred people,” Indi Go said. “Well, more like three hundred and fifty now, and I still didn’t learn that.”
    “She taught me how to gamble.” I laughed, remembering. Indi Go laughed as if not sure whether to believe me. “No, really. We have this card game, hwatu , um, War of Flowers, and she taught me how to play when I was a little girl.” I could feel the reverberations from Halmoni slapping the floor in disgust at a bad hand. She took no mercy on me, beating me from the time I was old enough to play the cards. I lost more money to her than any grandparent took from a grandchild, but, in exchange, she taught me how to hold my head high despite defeat.
    “Did you get to go back?” Unnoticing, Indi Go stabbed the piece of kimchi and put it into her mouth. She coughed, choking, until she grabbed for a sip of water.
    A Korean would have dismissed the memories of our country weak, ashamed, and powerless. A Korean girl would have been impatient with talk about past failures and want to focus on the present. Looking at this American girl, something inside of me relaxed. “Never,” I answered. “ Halmoni lived there for five more years, until her health failed. My father moved her to Seoul with us, but she hated the pollution and noise. She died a few months later, angry she couldn’t go faster.”
    Indi Go dropped her gaze again, this time out of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    Americans were so funny. They reveled in their ignorance, talking more loudly than any polite adult should, and yet they opened their hearts in a way Koreans did not.
    “Thank you.” She squeezed my hand. When I looked down, she released it in surprise.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just….”
    “It’s okay.” My heart lightened saying the words. I covered our hands with my other one. “Thank you, Go Indi.”
    She squinted at me. “Go Indi?”
    It was my turn to apologize. “Your name sounds like a Korean one. Ko In Di.” I shrugged. “Indi is a little unusual, but I thought since your parents raised you in America….”
    She laughed. “My parents are a mixture of Scottish, English, Welsh, and probably Spanish. No Korean that I know of. That’s why you say my name so strangely.”
    I frowned. “Indi Go is not correct?”
    She shook her head so hard that the adorable pixie cut flew in a mini halo. “Indigo,” she said. “Or just Indi. My friends call me that.”
    “In.” I thought about it. “It sounds like a Korean name. A good one. The Chinese character for In means tolerance, benevolence, and understanding.