The white noise of a familiar restaurant fills the gaps between conversations between my parents and Grandpa. It’s been a while since we’ve last been together. Plates clink as we eat banchan; boiling soup and soju hit the table soon after. As per tradition, Dad pours Grandpa a glass first.

It’s been an hour and a half. Enjoying himself, Grandpa directs a new story at me. It comes out slurred. I nod, smile, and repeat “네*” in the right cadence. He laughs and turns away, satisfied. He doesn’t realize, but it's almost the only word I know.

*Korean for “yes”