Chapter 14: The Housewarming Party

 

We are cuddled up together in bed. He's holding my hand, his long, slender fingers curled around it.

"When did you find out that he wasn't your real brother?" he asks, half sitting up, propping his face on one arm, and my hair.

"I needed to produce some documents for a school event in high school," I say, thinking back. "My birthdate was strange. My birth was registered several years after I was born. I wanted to ask oppa about it, but he was working the night shift. I stayed awake, thinking about it all night. In the morning, I came to the conclusion that I was not his sister, that he had adopted me."

"I've had questions all my life, and it was getting more and more difficult to pretend that everything was okay, that I was his sister. Everything kind of added up that night, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together; everything finally made sense."

"It must have been a shock to you," he says. "You were entering your teens, and it must have been tough."

"Yes, it was," I say. "The funny thing is that it happened the day before I was due for surgery at the hospital to remove this."

I indicate my burn scar.

His eyes follow mine, and he touches it gently, running his fingers lightly over it.

"Did you want to remove it that bad?" he asks.

"Yes, I did," I say, "but that morning, after realizing that I was adopted, I decided not to remove it." 

I look up at him.

"If I removed it, I might never get to find out who I am," my voice trails away to a whisper.

He brushes his lips against my scar, lightly, softly; a butterfly touch, a warm breath upon my cold skin, and I smile at him through my tears.

He pulls me close into his arms, gathers all of me into his arms, and kisses me gently on the forehead.

"It's weird," I say drowsily. "We came here to find your past, but I feel like it's me who's finding myself here."

I sit up in bed.

"Would you like to see something that's really cute?" I ask.

"Sure," he grins. "What is it?"

I reach out for my phone behind, on the bedstand.

"Oh, my battery's dead," I mutter.

I put the phone back, and settle back in bed.

"So what's this really cute thing that you want to show me?" he asks.

"It's a pic of me when I was little," I yawn.

"You're becoming more and more big-headed, do you know that?" he laughs.

"It makes me cuter, right?" I grin.

In the morning, we reach home in a taxi.

"I'm late," I say. "I've to go. Bye."

I wave goodbye to him, and hurry off. But he's following me.

"You've got to go," I turn him around, and push him in the opposite direction. "You're going to be late for work."

"I'll text you," I say.

We keep looking at each other, and our hands keep clinging to each other, reluctant to let go, dawdling, lingering, laughing, as we walk away.

I run all the way home.

I enter the house quietly, and put the picnic basket on the counter. Jin kook comes out of his bedroom. He sits at the table. He doesn't say a word.

"Oppa," I say. "Your gimbap was so popular at my workplace. It disappeared in seconds."

He stares at me, his face stony.

"Your boss called me," he said. "You never went to work."

His voice is flat, dead.

Ms. Hwang had called him.

I can't decide whether I'm worried or relieved, now that I've been caught in a bare-faced lie.

"I'm sorry that I lied," I say haltingly.

I sit at the table across him.

"I went to Haesang with Moo young," I say, looking him straight in the eye.

"Just tell me what you're going to do," he grits. "You promised that you'd not see him anymore."

"Oppa, I like him," I cry.

"How dare you say that?" he yells. "How dare you say that you like a guy like him?"

"Is it a crime to like him?" I cry. "Can't you listen to me - ,"

"No one will understand why you like him," he cuts into my words. "You left a nice guy like Cho rong for him!"

He's yelling.

"I knew that you wouldn't understand," I cry. "Why won't you listen to what I've to say?"

"Are you going to answer me?" he yells.

It's no use. He's not listening.

I get up and walk to my room.

He runs after me and grabs my arm.

"You were never like this when you were younger," he yells. "Why are you acting like this now?"

"Aren't you going to listen to me? I'm begging you," he says. "Who's raised you until now? I'm begging you. Listen to me."

"Why are you doing this to me?" I cry. "I'm so sorry. Do you want to know how I felt, growing up? Do you really, really want to know how I felt all these years, how I feel now? I was so sorry, so sorry to you for what you've done, raising me, so sorry that whenever I saw you, I couldn't breathe."

"I know that I'm your burden forever. I know that you raised me," I cry. "I know, and I'm so, so sorry. I can never be sorry enough. I'm so, so sorry to you, so stop rubbing it in."

"Rubbing it in...," he falters. "You're not a burden to me. How could you...do you really think that you are?"

"I really think that I am," I say. "I can't even breathe, and I'm sick and tired of it."

I go into my room, and close the door. I lean against it shakily. I hold in my tears, so that he can't hear me cry.

I'm at work when I get a text from Moo young.

TEXT: SHOW ME YOUR REALLY CUTE PIC IF YOU'VE CHARGED YOUR PHONE.

I send him a pic of oppa and me when I was a little girl. He's kneeling down beside me, and hugging me. I'm so tiny that I come up to his chin, even though he's kneeling. In the background is the hospital.

I get a text from So jung.

TEXT: COULD WE MEET UP? I NEED TO SEE YOU.

I text Moo young.

TEXT: OPPA FOUND OUT ABOUT OUR TRIP TO HAESANG. HIS FRIEND WANTS TO MEET ME.

I meet her at a cafe near my workplace.

We order two coffees.

She looks distraught.

"I've never seen Jin kook like this before," she says. "He's so down. Did you really go to Haesang?"

She leans forward and looks at me worriedly.

"Yes, I did," I say.

I explain to her what happened.

"You lied to him, so naturally, he feels hurt," she says, attempting to smile. "It'd be okay."

"Has oppa eaten?" I ask haltingly.

"No, he hasn't," she sighs.

I look down at my hands.

"Let's go and eat somewhere," So jung says. "Even if it's your fault, even if you were too harsh to him, it's okay. He'll understand. Jin kook was just sad that you grew up too quickly. Of course, your oppa should look after you since you don't have parents. But, Jin kang, don't ever do this to him again, okay?"

She stands up.

"C'mon, let's go somewhere and eat," she says.

"Eunnie," I say, "I've never seen oppa hate someone so much before. Do you know why he hates him so much?"

So jung sits down again.

She looks at me, then looks away.

"Honestly, Jin kang," she says haltingly, "I don't like him, either. I don't think that he suits you."

I'm lying on a bench outside Moo young's place. I cover my eyes, blotting out the sun, and the world.

It's so quiet and peaceful.

I want to pretend, for a little while longer, that all's well with my life. I want to lie here, pretending to be drowsy and content, that nothing out of the ordinary has happened, that my old, familiar world continues to roll on in its old, familiar way, that the raised angry voices, the disapproving eyes, were but a figment of my imagination, the fragments of an unimportant, insignificant dream.

I hear footsteps approaching, and then the bench creaks.

I open my eyes, and he's lying down next to me, smiling.

It was no dream.

The raised, angry voices; the disapproving eyes: they're real; they're part of my new, unfamiliar world.

But he's here; he fills my new, unfamiliar world with his warmth, his love, his essence.

I'd not have it any other way.

Without him, I'm nothing.

Without him, my world's empty.

I'm no longer the same girl in that old, familiar world.

That girl belongs to yesterday, to the past.

I'm different, changed; I can never be quite the same again.

The future stretches before me: unknown, daunting; but with him by my side, I'll embrace it with courage.

For this one brief moment of time, lying here on the bench, staring into each other's eyes, we're safe; no one can touch us.

And maybe, one day...one day, this new, unfamiliar world will mellow, and the raised, angry voices will become kinder, gentler, and the disapproving eyes will smile, and become warmer, softer...

I turn to him.

"You came," I say.

He smiles.

"Yes, I came," he says softly.

We lie down next to each other. I stretch out my hand, and he catches it, and laces his fingers with mine.

We go inside and eat ramen.

"You  haven't eaten the whole day?" he asks.

"I couldn't eat a thing," I say. "I went home, but when I saw the door, I couldn't go inside. So I came here. It feels good to come here."

"Do you love your brother that much?" he asks.

"Yes, I do," I say.

"This is complicated," he mutters.

"Why?" I ask. "Are you sad because oppa doesn't like you? Please try to understand how he feels. I hope that in time, he'll grow to accept you and like you."

"Is it that important to you?" he asks. "We're already adults, we don't need his permission. I don't like complicated things. You're who you are, and that guy is who he is. You and him - you're two separate individuals."

"That guy?" I echo his words, my voice hollow. "That guy that you're referring to is my brother. He's not some random person. Is he really just an unimportant person to you? How could you say that? How could you call him that guy? You've got to understand him; he's acting like this because he doesn't know yet that you're trying to be a good person."

"I don't give a damn what your brother thinks of me," he says coldly, every word dripping with icy, brutal indifference. "I'm used to being rejected, so it means nothing to me. I don't give a damn what he thinks about me. Don't force me to understand him, to be nice to him."

"Your brother, your brother....why do you keep saying that, as if it's got nothing to do with you?" I cry. "You know what he means to me, you know everything, no one else does, so how could you say that?"

He doesn't look at me.

Is it always going to be like this? Him, retreating into his own world, shutting the door on the outside world, walling himself in, away from prejudice and rejection, glibness and indifference his response to the hurt and the rage that he's feeling inside? Can we ever be together, a man and a woman, standing side by side, hand in hand with no gulf, no divide between us?

"I'm leaving," I say.

I wait for his reaction.

"Bye," he says.

He bends down and takes a mouthful of his ramen.

He's not even looking at me.

I stare at him for a moment. Then I walk out.

I stand at a dark corner and fight the tears that threaten to spill over.

He comes out and runs down the steps.

I wait.

My phone rings. It's him. I don't answer it.

I wait for an hour, maybe two.

I see him walking up the steps.

He stops when he sees me.

He walks to me.

He looks exhausted and drained, and he's drenched in sweat.

"You're a liar," I say. "No one gets used to rejection. It's okay to be rejected. If you say that it hurts you, then I'm on your side."

He walks up to me and pulls me into his arms, burrowing his face into my chest.

The pain dissipates, and the emptiness as well; I'd no idea how empty I'd been feeling since I walked away from him.

"I was so scared when you left me," he whispers, like a lost child.

His eyes are filled with aching, grieving panic as he remembers, and he holds me tightly, desperately, so close that I can feel the beating of his heart, and his frantic, gasping breaths.

"You're a bad guy," I say, his damp hair. "How far did you go?"

"I went to your house," he says.

"Did you run there?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

"Did you run hard?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

"You won't do this again next time, right?" I say. "You'll stop me when I leave?"

He rests his chin on top of my head. His arms clench around me tighter.

He nods.

"I'm thirsty," I say. "I didn't drink anything because I was so mad."

He pulls me into a closer hug, wrapping his arms around me, moulding our bodies against each other so that there's no space between them. Then he lifts me, and carries me up, my arms coiled around his neck, my legs wound around his waist, his arms around my body holding me so safe, so secure, so that I do not fall.

He carries me to the door.

"My bag," I say, and he turns, still carrying me, bends, and retrieves the bag. I giggle, and he laughs. He struggles to open the door, carrying me, so I reach over and open it. We laugh again. He carries me inside, and drops the bag on the floor. It falls limply, and lands on its side, and we burst out laughing again. He carries me all the way to the counter and sits me up there. He passes me a bottle of water.

"No cups, no microwave, no rice cooker, no washing machine," I rattle off the list. "Now I know why the cat left."

"Why did the cat leave?" he asks, grinning.

"It didn't feel like home, because there wasn't anything here," I say. "Do you have money?"

"Yes, I do," he grins, "but not much. Why?"

"I can't tell you," I smile. "It's my secret."

He reaches out a finger, and traces it along the edges of my smiling lips, and then pulls me hard against him, and crushes my lips beneath his; feverishly, hungrily, demandingly.

When I reach home, the house is dark.

Jin kook is sleeping. His room lights are off.

I wake up early the next morning and go out and buy fresh milk.

I come in, just as my alarm rings in my room. Jin kook's already up. He stares at me.

"I bought some milk," I say. "Do you want some bread?"

We're eating breakfast.

"It tastes good," he says, munching the toast.

"Do you want some more?" I ask.

I get up and make another piece of toast.

Sitting down, I pass the toast to him.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," I say.

"I know," he answers. "I'm not stupid." 

He laughs.

"Oppa," I say, "could I have some time to see if you'd like him? Could you just wait for us for a bit?"

Jin kook puts down his toast. He stands up and leaves the table without saying a word. He goes into his room, collects his stuff and leaves the house.

Moo young and I go to a departmental store.

"I'm going to spend all your $2000," I say.

We buy household appliances. I have a list of everything that he needs.

"Perhaps $2000 isn't enough," I say. "Do you have $3000?"

He smiles.

"We'll need to go to the food section after this," I say. "You need food for your housewarming."

"Wait a sec," he protests. "Let's just eat out."

I pick up a cute stuffed cat.

"I'm not buying that," he growls.

But I've already put it in the cart.

He groans.

The next day, I get a text from Moo young.

TEXT: SHOULD WE HAVE WHITE WINE OR RED WINE?

I text back.

TEXT: WHITE WINE.

I get a call ftom Jin kook. He's at a grocery store.

"Would you like fish stew for dinner?" he asks.

"Oh, oppa," I say. "I don't think that I can make it back for dinner. There's a lot of work, so I'll be staying on."

I'm at Moo young's house.

"Do you know why people bring toilet paper and laundry detergent for housewarming?" I ask. "It's because they're tokens of good luck. So, Moo young, you're going to have tons and tons of good luck from now on."

I look around.

"It really looks like a home now," I exclaim.

He's cooking up a storm.

He's set the table, and now he's simmering a pot on the stove.

"It's supposed to be the simplest recipe," he grumbles, "but it turned out to be really difficult."

I laugh.

I talk to my stuffed cat, but the pic is not there.

"Where's my oppa?" I ask. "Where's the pic? Did you take it out because you don't like oppa?"

I'd slipped the pic into the front pocket of the stuffed toy, and left it on the small table next to the bed.

"It's in my wallet," he says.

I squish his face between my hands.

"You're so cute," I squeal.

I open the wallet. The pic's in there.

He comes over, and stands next to me.

"What's this?" he asks, pointing to the building behind oppa and me.

"That's Myungsung University Hospital," I say.

"I might have been there before," he says, his brow furrowing.

"It's the biggest hospital in Haesang," I say. "You might have been treated there before. I was treated there for my burns until I was seven."

He's still staring at the pic, and his eyes are far away, and I realize that he's forgotten all about me, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, struggling to find a light, an answer amidst the thick clouds and the swirling mists of his lost memory.

I hear a hissing sound. The pot's boiling over.

I dash over and switch off the stove.

We're getting ready to eat. We take a pic together. He pushes me forward just as I press the camera button.

"Your head's enormous," he grins. I punch his arm.

He wants to open the bottle of wine.

"I forgot to buy a wine bottle opener," he says. "I'll go and buy one now."

He puts on his coat.

"Don't start eating yet," he says. "I'll be back fast."

He smiles, and heads out the door.

I take a spoonful of the soup.

It's past twenty minutes, and he's still not back.

I pick up the stuffed cat.

"Just wait," I say. "He'll be back soon. You'll see."

The cat stares blankly back at me.

An hour passes.

The food is cold.

I feel a rising sense of unease; stealthily, sinuously, it creeps into my heart, and wraps its long, icy tentacles around it, gripping it, choking it, so that I can't breathe.