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Jongin jumped in his chair when Namjoo’s father slammed his fist onto the dining table causing the 7½” cleaver at the side to rattle. His eyes traced the fine cutting edge nervously. He knew Namjoo’s father was a chef but not that he literally wielded a knife. He gulped wondering why Namjoo’s mother had graciously invited him into their home.

The table was halfway filled with a feast to welcome their daughter home, but really felt as if he was at a grand buffet as a VIP. Namjoo’s mother had left them – him with Namjoo and her slim father whose arms were rock stead hard from carrying loads of meat and from years of lifting heavy knives.

Namjoo’s parents did not look as old as the picture he’d seen of them. It made sense if he added ten years to his mother, but her parents still seemed energetically young. Namjoo’s father was rather bald and his face was sagging with wrinkles but his eyes were capable of possessing a frightfully mean glare. Namjoo’s mother certainly looked her age except her dyed black hair hid the truth of it in a mystical way.

From the table he could hear her humming in the kitchen as she finished the last batch of lunch. The old man coughed from deep in his throat to catch Jongin’s attention. He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck the way water trickled out of a closed faucet.

“Yes?” Jongin nervously came to attention.

“What is your name?”

He glanced at Namjoo as if maybe she could answer for him. She said nothing.

“It’s Kim Jongin, sir,” he politely replied.

“And who are you?”

Jongin’s eyes landed on the cleaver again. Did her parents know about him? What should he say?

“Dad, stop,” Namjoo chided.

“I’m just wondering who he is,” he retorted. “And you, we’ll talk about your matter later, but who is he and why is he here? He’s sweating like a deer caught in the headlights.”

“How dare you talk to our guest like that,” Namjoo’s mother scolded setting a dish of steaming tofu and beef on the table. “Take your cleaver away!”

Without arguing Namjoo’s father grabbed his knife and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Now, what is your name again?” Namjoo’s mother asked sitting down at the food laden table. Her seat was directly across from him thank goodness. If it was Namjoo’s father he might have wet his pants.

“It’s Kim Jongin.”

“Eat up, Jongin,” her mother kindly urged. “Namjoo didn’t say a friend would be coming. If she had said something ahead of time,” her mother gave her an eye, “I could have prepared much more.”

“Oh, no, no. This is more than enough.”

“But who is he?” Namjoo’s father asked as he returned to the table. Looking at Namjoo, “If you’re done with Seojun, why is there another guy hanging around?”

“Dad, please,” Namjoo muttered.

“Don’t irritate her,” her mother warned. Placing food onto her plate she scolded, “What have you been eating? You’re so skinny now.”

“I’m not.” Namjoo sulked.

“Then what have you been eating? If you’ve been starving yourself over that guy, why I oughta teach you a lesson,” her mother scolded.

“Mom…” Namjoo frowned.

Hesitatingly, Jongin raised his hand as if to answer a question without being called on. “I have.”

“What?” Namjoo’s father literally choked.

“I…I…” he stuttered, “I’ve been cooking.”

Jongin’s face reddened when Namjoo’s father began laughing as if he’d told a joke. “You?! Cook? I can’t believe it!”

The room became drenched in silence as his wife, his daughter, and nerve-wrecked Jongin stared at him bewildered, baffled, and shocked.

“What is wrong with you? Are you out of your mind?” his wife yelled at him.

Clearing his throat like a child caught in the act, Namjoo’s father apologized like a sulking child, “Yes, I apologize.”

Sweating profusely, Jongin wished he could douse himself under cold water.

“It’s not his fault. I was sick and I wasn’t feeling well,” Namjoo covered for him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do a good job,” Jongin apologized.

Namjoo’s father eyed him observantly. Asking once more, “Who are you?”

Was his back soaked with sweat now? Jongin hadn’t expected to meet Namjoo’s parents this way. He had thought maybe when they were on good terms again and fully understood each other, that was when it would happen.

“I’m having his baby,” Namjoo blurted.

Silence swamped the room although it felt like his ears had exploded. Should he get down and kneel? Ask for forgiveness? Promise he’d take care of their daughter for the rest of his life?

“If you’re done, there’s a river nearby. Go relax and come back. Your father and I have some things to talk about in the meantime.” Namjoo’s mother shattered the glass-like silence.

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It was probably worse the way it had happened. The silence drawing over them had stretched and stretched into the walls like a slithering snake. A clock had started ticking inside Jongin’s head waiting for something to explode. Namjoo’s parents should have been scolding them. Lecturing their ears off, because their daughter had been so irresponsible she had literally thrown away her future. Condemning him for impregnating their unwed daughter.

Jongin was certain now that he should have kneeled and asked them for forgiveness. They would look at him with a sore eye. They would never see him as he was, because he was just that someone who had torn apart their daughter’s life.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as he followed her across the street past a row of houses. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Namjoo didn’t turn back to look at him or stop to wait for him to catch up. Several more steps and they approached the noise of gurgling water.

“I called my mom last night.” Namjoo confessed. “She would have guessed when she saw you.”

He stared at the small of her back. Thinking once more about how sorry he was toward her.

The sun was high this afternoon. Clear blue skies accompanied by flying birds instead of rolling white clouds. The heat just continued increasing. Somehow, Namjoo seemed unaffected by this hot weather. On the other hand, Jongin felt like he was a melting ice cube. Still sweating and about to become less than a small puddle.

Nature was abundant in this quiet section of town. Bundles of wild flowers bloomed fully throughout the land, thriving with life and bursts of colors. Butterflies danced around each other as they floated away at the softest hint of a breeze. Jongin smelled earth, fresh green glass, and cool blue water splashing against the shore.

The river flowed left gushing up and splitting around jagged rocks before descending. Ducks traveling amidst calm waves unbothered by the current of the wind or seagulls dipping in for fish. A flat expanse of land stretched beyond into the shadowy green woods on the other side of the river. It was picturesque as if civilization didn’t exist behind them.

Late in the afternoon they were the only ones occupying the quiet. A blanket and a picnic basket would complete the peaceful picture. Jongin could already see them taking a nap underneath the sun and waking up with painful twin sunburns.

“Lets go over there,” Namjoo suggested. “I have some things I need to say.”

He watched her roll up her pants evenly. There were flat medium sized stepping stones leading to the other side. Rolling up his pants he went first and extended his hand back for her. Wrapping her fingers around his she followed him to the other side taking one step at a time as the water sloshed around their shoes.

Arriving on the other side he in the fresh air. Glad his allergies weren’t acting up yet or else he’d be suffering from a sneezing fit. Withdrawing her hand from his Namjoo took a step away. It was still hot but somehow cooler now that they were closer to the water. Looking at her he thought about the things he had been thinking about late last night and earlier in the day.

Jongin started counting down his list when Namjoo spoke first.

“I told you I was supposed to get married,” Namjoo started, “but I didn’t tell you that Seojun didn’t cancel it.”

If Namjoo forfeited her future with Seojun for his child, would she want to give him a shot? Give him a chance at being a father?

“I thought about telling you,” Namjoo admitted fiddling with her fingers, “but I don’t know what that will do for me.” She glanced at him, “I’m thinking about moving down here. It’s quiet. It’s nice. It’s not stressful. My parents are here.”

“What about the baby?”

“I’ll give birth here,” Namjoo held his eyes, “so, Jongin, don’t worry about anything. I won’t make you take responsibility. I won’t tie you down. I don’t want to hold you back from the things you still want to do. I don’t want to burden you like that, so just forget about everything that happened. I’m sorry you had to find out. We can pretend it never happened and I promise I won’t come looking for you in the future. You can go home, Jongin. You’re free.”

“Why don’t you ask me what I want?”

Namjoo gave him a once over with quiet laden eyes. Yet the movement of her eyebrows said she was surprised.

“This morning I thought, she’s packing because she’s leaving, I shouldn’t let that happen,” Jongin admitted. “On the way here I thought to myself, if only we knew each other a little more then we wouldn’t be having such a hard time by ourselves, figuring this or that out; trying to understand each other without words. I know why you came, so I had to come, too.

“So, I’ll just be straight with you. I do want the baby, Namjoo. I want to be a father not out of responsibility but because I want to. And I’m sorry it happened this way, but I don’t regret it. I know we don’t know each other, but there has to be a beginning to an end. I’d like to get to know you and see where we go from there. What is there to lose?”

Her lips turned into a small firm line. Hesitating, worrying because she had more to lose than he ever would.

Jongin touched her hand. “Lets have the baby. You can trust me.”

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“Should I kneel down when we get back?” Jongin asked on the way back to the house. Now that they’d gotten over talking about the baby, the tension that had been consuming him the previous days was gone. He and Namjoo were on the same page for once and finally taking one step at a time.

First, to talk to her parents. He was still nervous about her father. Jongin wanted to be liked. Get along with them, because they were the grandparents of his child. And his child would have someone to call grandpa, so it mattered that Namjoo’s father saw him in a good light.  

“What? Why would you?” Namjoo asked flabbergasted.

“Well, it didn’t seem like your dad was happy to see me.”

“Don’t you think you’re going too far?” Namjoo wondered interlacing her fingers nervously.

“It feels awkward,” Jongin confessed when the house came into view.

“Because you weren’t supposed to be here,” Namjoo pointed out.

“I know,” he moped. “What do you think they talked about?”

Slowing down Namjoo glanced at him, “Probably about Seojun. I came so we could talk about that.”

Jongin looked out of the corner of his eye at her. “If you said no, he should have respected that.”

“It’s not easy when the parents are involved,” Namjoo said.

“How?” he turned to her. “The parents aren’t the ones living the marriage.”

“When things like reputation and expectations can’t be met, it’s a living downfall,” Namjoo explained. “Everyone sees the world a bit differently.”

Like the way each and every person was raised uniquely. His parents brought him up by teaching kindness, responsibility, and respect. If he made a mess, he should clean up. If he was upset he should talk about his feelings. When a stranger needed kindness he should offer his hand. The way his father charged into burning homes to save the helpless. By instilling the values in him he grew up to learn the ways of the world. Burn himself once and learn to do better the next time.

How had Namjoo been raised?

“By the way,” Namjoo changed topic, “I’m sorry. You were right.”

“About?”

“I shouldn’t have let Seojun treat me the way he did,” Namjoo said.

The corner of his lips perked up. “At least you know.” Hooking his hands behind him he started ahead and glanced back, “Are you coming?”

Namjoo’s mother was first to greet them. Instructing them to sit in the living room while she brought out some tea. The room was garnished in pictures. A glass case at the side held remarkable cooking trophies he assumed Namjoo’s father had won throughout the years. His certified chef certificate was framed on the wall honorably. Miscellaneous souvenirs decorated the empty space around the television set. In the corner between the lounge seat and the recliner sat a vase full of fresh flowers atop a round side table. Jongin could tell the home had been decorated with family and comfort in mind.

Footsteps shuffled by the doorway and both Namjoo’s parents entered. Her mother placed down a tray of several mugs filled generously with newly brewed tea.

“I hope you like tea,” her mother said setting his mug in front of him.

Politely accepting it he hurriedly said, “Yes. My mother often makes tea, too.”

“Your parents are in Seoul?” She asked.

“Yes, my mother lives nearby me,” Jongin explained.

“And where is your father?” Namjoo’s father perked up.

“Dad,” Namjoo frowned.

“He passed away several years ago,” Jongin informed.

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoo’s mother apologized empathically and turned to hit her husband’s leg. “Namjoo called yesterday, but she didn’t tell us much about you. Excuse us if we sound nosy.”

“No, it’s ok,” Jongin assured still nervous but hoped it didn’t show.

“How do you know each other?” Namjoo’s father coldly asked.

“We went to school together,” Jongin answered.

“School?!” he repeated as if it was absurd. Looking at his daughter, “How long ago has it been since you were in school? So you two have always known each other?”

“Well…uh…no…” Jongin found himself stuttering again.

“Dad, please,” Namjoo groaned thinking they really didn’t need to go over how she and Jongin had met again and how that night had brought them here.

“I’m just asking how you two know each other and why he came down with you,” her father exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of him before!”

“We live together,” Jongin blurted clearly not thinking straight. Part of his mind had been replaying Namjoo at his doorway asking to come in, packing, and telling him she was leaving for home. Then they’d wound up on the road and he was unexpectedly meeting her parents for the first time.

“What?!” her father exclaimed, eyes becoming round.

And he was ruining his chance to look perfect.

Shifting in his seat, Jongin stammered, “I…I m…mean, we’re neighbors.” Unaware that his voice was trembling, he repeated, “We’re neighbors.” He glanced at Namjoo to see burying her face into her hands.

Coming to his rescue, Namjoo’s mother hit her father’s arm then turned to them. “What your father wants to say is, what’s your relationship?”

“We uh…” Namjoo started.

“Let him talk,” her father pointed his chin toward Jongin who was sweating like a pig again.

Gulping in hopes of calming his nerves, Jongin tried not to visibly shake. In fact, he had never met a girlfriend’s parents before. This buzz traveling through his body was warping his self-control. Jongin couldn’t concentrate. All he saw was the two elders sitting on a twenty-foot throne before him, about to bestow a fail or pass onto him.

“We don’t have one,” Jongin managed to say.

Keeping a firm hand on her husband’s arm, Namjoo’s mother said more to her daughter than him, “We know you are an adult. You can make all the choices you feel is right for yourself. Becoming a parent is not an easy task. Becoming a parent means sacrifice, forking out every dime for your child, throwing away dreams, suffering, and thinking only about this life you have created. It is not something that you decide you don’t want later on and can give away.

“Whether there’s sunshine or rain is beating on the windows and you are rotten poor, you need to find a way to survive. You have your father and I, but we can only do so much for you. Yesterday I heard about what you want, but I want to know what he thinks. Have you two really talked this over?”

“We decided to put marriage on a hold,” Namjoo said.

“We just agreed to have the baby,” Jongin answered at the same time.

Then they looked at each other.

“What?” her father asked.   

***heh~~