June 2020

I was twenty eight when the seaplane Woo Jiho and I were travelling on crash-landed in the Indian Ocean. Jiho was seventeen and three months into remission from Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The pilot’s name was Graham, but he died before we hit the water.

My boyfriend, Mino, drove me to the airport even though he was fourth on my list, below my parents and best friend, Chaeyoung, of the people I wanted to take me. We fought the crowd, each of us pulling a large, wheeled suitcase, and I wondered if everyone in Seoul had decided to fly somewhere that day. When we finally reached the Singapore Airlines counter, the ticket agent smiled, tagged my luggage, and handed me a boarding pass.

“Thank you, Miss Kim. I’ve checked you all the way through to Malé. Have a safe trip.”

I slipped the boarding pass into my purse and turned to say goodbye to Mino. “Thanks for driving me.”

“I’ll walk with you, Jennie.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, shaking my head.

He flinched. “I want to.”

We shuffled along in silence, following the throng of slow-moving passengers. At the gate, Mino asked, “What’s he look like?”

“Pale and skinny.”

I scanned the crowd and smiled when I spotted Jiho because short dark hair now covered his head. I waved, and he acknowledged me with a nod while the boy sitting next to him elbowed him in the ribs.

“Who’s the other kid?” Mino asked.

“I think it’s his friend, Jihoon.”

Slouched in their seats, they were dressed in the style favored by most sixteen-year-old boys; long baggy athletic shorts, T-shirts, and untied tennis shoes. A black backpack sat on the floor at Jiho’s feet.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Mino asked. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and stared down at the worn airport carpeting.

Well, one of us has to do something. 

“Yes.”

“Please don’t make any final decisions until you get back.”

I didn’t point out the irony in his request. “I said I wouldn’t.”

There was really only one option though. I just chose to postpone it until the end of the summer.

Mino put his arms around my waist and kissed me, several seconds longer than he should have in such a public place. Embarrassed, I pulled away. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jiho and Jihoon watching it all.

“I love you,” he said.

I nodded. “I know.”

Resigned, he picked up my carry-on bag and placed the strap on my shoulder. “Have a safe flight. Call me when you get there.”

“Okay.”

Mino left and I watched until the crowd enveloped him, then smoothed the front of my skirt and walked over to the boys. They looked down as I approached.

“Hi, Jiho. You look great. Are you ready to go?”

His dark brown eyes briefly met mine. “Yeah, sure.” He had gained weight and his face wasn’t as pale. He had braces on his teeth, which I hadn’t noticed before, and a small scar on his chin.
 “Hi, I’m Jennie,” I said to the boy sitting next to Jiho. “You must be Jihoon. How was your party?”

He glanced at Jiho, confused, “Uh, it was okay.”

I pulled my cellphone and looked at the time. “I’ll be right back, Jiho. I want to check our flight.”

As I walked away I heard Jihoon say, “Dude, your babysitter is smokin’ hot.”

“She’s my tutor, .”

The words rolled off me. I taught at a high school and considered occasional comments from hormone-riddled boys a fairly benign occupational hazard.

After confirming we were still on schedule, I returned and sat in the empty chair next to Jiho. “Did Jihoon leave?”

“Yeah. His mom got tired of circling the airport. He wouldn’t let her come in with us.”

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

We sat in awkward silence until it was time to board the plane. Jiho followed me down the narrow aisle to our first-class seats. “Do you want the window?” I asked.

Jiho shrugged. “Sure, thanks.”

I stepped to the side and waited until he sat down, then buckled in next to him. He took his Bose Bluetooth headphones out of his backpack and put it on, his subtle way of letting me know he wasn’t interested in having a conversation. I pulled a book out of my carry-on bag, the pilot lifted off, and we left Seoul behind.
 

Things started to go wrong in Singapore. It should have taken something like eighteen hours to fly from Seoul to Malé–the capital city of Maldives–but we’d fallen behind schedule after spending the entire day and half the night at the Changi International Airport in Singapore waiting for the airline to reroute us after mechanical problems and weather delays rendered our original itinerary obsolete. Jiho and I sat on padded armchairs in the lounge at three in the morning after finally being confirmed on the next flight out. He rubbed his eyes.

I pointed to a double sofa. “Lie down if you want.”

“I’m okay,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“We aren’t leaving for several hours. You should try to sleep.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

I was exhausted, but Jiho probably needed the rest more than I did. “I’m fine. You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” He smiled faintly. “Thanks.” He stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep immediately.

I stared out the window and watched the planes land and take off again, their red lights blinking in the night sky. The frigid air conditioning raised goosebumps on my arms, and I shivered in my skirt and sleeveless blouse. In a nearby restroom, I changed into the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt I’d packed in my carry-on bag, then bought a cup of coffee. When I sat back down next to Jiho, I opened my book and read, waking him three hours later when they called our flight.

There were more delays by the time we landed at Malé International Airport in the Maldives, the Woo’s summer island was still two hours away by seaplane, I had been awake for thirty hours. My temples throbbed and my eyes, gritty and aching, burned. When they said they had no reservation for us, I blinked back tears.

“But I have the confirmation number,” I said to the ticket agent, sliding the scrap of paper across the counter. “I updated our reservation before we left Singapore. Two seats. Jiho Woo and Jennie Kim. Will you please look again?”

The ticket agent checked the computer. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Your names are not on the list. The seaplane is full.”

“What about the next flight?”

“It will be dark soon. Seaplanes don’t fly after sunset.” Noticing my stricken expression, he gave me a sympathetic look, tapped his keyboard, and picked up the phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Jiho and I walked to a small gift shop, and I bought two bottles of water. “Do you want one?”

“No thanks.”

“Why don’t you put it in your backpack,” I said, handing it to him. “You might want it later.”

I dug a bottle of Tylenol out of my purse, shook two into my hand, and swallowed them with some water. We sat down on a bench, and I called Jiho’s mom, Jiyoung, and told her not to expect us until morning.

“There’s a chance they’ll find us a flight, but I don’t think we’ll get out tonight. The seaplanes don’t fly after dark so we may have to spend the night at the airport.”

“I’m sorry, Jennie. You must be exhausted,” she said.

“It’s okay, really. We’ll be there tomorrow for sure.” I covered the phone with my hand. “Do you want to talk to your mom?” Jiho made a face and shook his head.

I noticed the ticket agent waving at me. He was smiling. “Mrs Woo, listen I think we might–” and then my cell phone dropped the call. I put the phone back in my purse and approached the counter, holding my breath.
 

“One of the charter pilots can fly you to the island,” the ticket agent said. “The passengers he was supposed to take are delayed in Sri Lanka and won’t get here until tomorrow morning.”

I exhaled and smiled. “That’s wonderful. Thank you for