“I could smell the food from the bedroom.”
I scrunch my nose. “I should’ve cooked in the back kitchen.”
“No. It’s good.”
Wansu looks at the relatively clean countertops, which are cleared of everything but my dishes. “Where is the charye food?”
“I sent it home with Mrs. Ji and the staff. They were very grateful. In the meantime, I made us a meal. Sit and I’ll serve you.”
The pork loin is marinated with honey, gochujang, soy sauce, garlic, and ginger. I slice it thinly and coil a few pieces on top of a bed of fresh rice. The remainder goes on a rectangular white china platter. Yujun helps me serve Mrs. Ji’s banchan but I add my own version of potatoes—mashed with cream and butter, topped with scallions and a spicy yogurt dressing. For dessert, I present my apple pie.
“You don’t have pie tins, so I used these stone bowls instead. I also made apple pie hotteok for you, Yujun.” I lift the edge of a dish towel to reveal the golden fritters.
“Can I start with dessert?” He stares wide-eyed at the spread.
“No,” Wansu answers for me. She straightens her chopsticks and dives in. None of us have eaten since last night, and so we lapse into silence as we attack the food. It might be because I’m hungry, but the food is some of the best I’ve tasted. I give myself an internal pat on the back.
“This is very good, Hara. I didn’t realize you were such an accomplished chef.” Wansu pats the side of her mouth with a napkin.
“I don’t know if I’m much of a chef.” I love the compliment, though. I’m sure I’m glowing.
“Hara worked on a food truck,” offers Yujun between bites. He snags more sliced pork loin from the platter in the center of the table.
Wansu’s eyebrows slide up.
“For two whole days only, but it was fun. Hard, but fun.”
“What about IF Group?”
That’s a good question. Yujun shoots me a silent apology for not having thought through his comment. It’s too bad the table is so wide or maybe I could’ve kicked him in the shin.
“I took a sick day to help. The Seonsaeng-nim who runs the food truck was very ill and I worried that she might suffer an economic hardship if she had to close down.” Wansu doesn’t appear to love the idea that I took a day off to work on a food truck, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the work or because I left IF Group.
I test the waters. “Is working in a food truck bad?”
“No. All work is honorable; however, sick days are to be used if you are truly ill and not to avoid your place of employment.”
“No. I wouldn’t want to do that,” I lie.
We talk about nothing important for the rest of the meal. It’s as if the events earlier in the day never happened, and if it weren’t for the reddened knuckles on Yujun’s right hand, maybe I could convince myself it was all a nightmare.
After dinner, Yujun helps me clean up and Wansu returns to Choi Yusuk’s room.
“How is your father?” I broach the subject as Yujun has his fourth apple pie hotteok.
“Same as always.” He taps his fork against the ceramic plate. “I think it is time for Eomma to let go.”
As this is the first time Yujun has spoken about his father in really any context, I keep my mouth shut and practice my listening skills.
“She has hoped for a different result for a long time, but there’s no medical opinion that warrants keeping him on these machines.” He blows out a deep breath and sends me a sad, rueful smile. “That’s a perfectly depressing topic upon which to end our very eventful day, isn’t it?”
“I have one of your Hermès ties in my closet if you need something to wipe your tears with,” I offer.
“Kept that, did you?” The smile turns more genuine.
“I think I have almost everything you gave me including the paper that wrapped this.” I tap the necklace under my blouse.
“I have something else for you. Let me get it. I’ll meet you in your room.”
My eyes fly upstairs to Wansu.
“It’s okay.” He shoos me off.
I don’t waste my breath arguing because, frankly, I don’t want to. I run to my bedroom, pushing aside the beautiful hanbok I wore earlier, and find the gift I bought for Yujun. It was a splurge for me, but Chuseok and Seollal are the major gift exchange holidays. I didn’t want to screw up so I spent more than I ordinarily would. I’m glad because while I’m putting money aside, my money situation will be tight if I go through with my wild idea and I might not be able to buy much for Seollal.
He knocks before opening, a small red package with a gold bow in his hand. “Is that for me?” His eyes light up.
“No. It’s for me. I bought presents for myself and I plan to open them while you watch me.” I grin.
“Perfect, as I have bought this for myself as well.” He shakes the box. “Shall we?”
I snatch the box out of his hands and run over to the sofa. “Yes.”
As I carefully untie the gift, wrapped ingeniously with no tape so that the paper falls aside with a few tugs, Yujun sits next to me, rubbing a hand over my head and kissing my crown.
“I love you, Hara. Thank you for staying with me.”
I abandon the small blue velvet box to cup his cheek. “Thank you for being my Yujun from Seoul.”
He dips his head to kiss me but draws back at the last moment. “Gift exchange first.” He taps the box. “Open up.”
Inside the small box is a pair of red enamel ducks with white jade bellies. The tails and necks of the ducks are adorned with dozens of tiny diamonds, and the eyes are brilliant rubies.
“When I saw you today, I wished I had given them to you last night after we made songpyeon. You could have worn them with your outfit.”
“I’m glad I didn’t.” They won’t have any bad memories attached to them, which I can’t say for the hanbok. Even looking at it makes my stomach clench.
“Now me.” He holds out his hands.
I lay the package on his palms. “I wrapped it myself.” I feel like I have to explain away the tape and the hand-tied bow.
“It’s perfect.” It doesn’t matter because he rips the paper off and lets it flutter to the ground while he opens the box. Inside is a navy leather portfolio with his initials embossed in silver on the front.
“This is gorgeous.” He smooths his hand over the luxe leather. “Feels super soft.”