can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been?
the florescent lights bounce off of the apple’s waxy, red skin. the supermarket is quiet today, as it tends to be most sunday mornings just before the after-sermon rush. jiyeon drops the apple into a plastic bag, then reaches out to grab another.
she hears him before she sees him; the sharp, nervous intake of breath that precedes his quiet greeting. “hey,” he doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he reaches to straighten his hat, to pull at the straps of his apron, to do anything to expel the sudden onset of nervous energy that has built up inside of him at the sight of her.
jiyeon, evidently still preoccupied, tenderly squeezes the apple in her hand as she tests it for any ripening softness. hyunsik is nice, eager for her attention, and woefully falls short of her mother’s demanding expectations.
she hates having to look at him; he and his hopeful eyes and kind hands. jiyeon does not want to think of what man her parents hoped she would one day bring home if even tender-hearted hyunsik was not good enough for them.
there is a pain that radiates from the epicenter that is her heart all the way to the extremities of her body, it leaves no space within her untouched as she forces herself to ignore hyunsik in favor of the waxy apples on display.
he leaves, wordlessly. and something within her withers away.
*
“look! look!”
she runs down the narrow hall of their entrance, just barely slowing down enough to toe off her shoes before crossing over into the living room. mom is in the kitchen, standing by the stove; she turns to look over her shoulder sharply, patting her hands dry with a a spare dishcloth once she realizes that it is only jiyeon bounding into their living room, uncharacteristically excited.
mom’s lips spread into an easy smile, hands instinctively settling on her hips. “what is it?” jiyeon waves the papers in her hand as response, a too-wide smile adorning her own face. “well?” mom questions again, reaching for the papers in jiyeon’s hands.
“i got accepted! to the school in london!”
confusion washes over mom’s face, which is quickly replaced by a pained expression as she lurches forward with a hand clutched to her chest.
“m-mom! wha--mom!” mom forces herself to take a deep breath, steadies herself just enough to instruct jiyeon to call dad immediately.
the rest of the day breezes past her. dad arrives, then helps mom up into their room where she lies waiting for the doctor to arrive as well. jiyeon waits at the foot of the stairs, head in her hands, as jisoo sits besides her.
jisoo is quiet, barely audibly against the sound of the world moving on around them. “do you think she’ll be ok?” jiyeon sighs, and leans against him in response
hours later, dad calls her upstairs.
mom lays in bed feebly, buried under a mountain of blankets in effort to keep her warm.
“you won’t--you won’t really leave me, right?”
jiyeon freezes. there is only one acceptable answer. so, she bids a quick farewell to any wishes or desires she may have once entertained and kneels by mom’s bedside. mom smiles wetly, and reaches out her hand. dutifully, jiyeon leans into mom’s touch but finds the curve of her hand against her cheek inhospitable, as if built to fit someone else (never her) entirely.
*
jiyeon finds mom in bed, again. the curtains are drawn, engulfing the room in a stifling sort of darkness. the air is stale and mom is quiet.
jiyeon can be patient, jiyeon has been patient. but now, she stands in the doorway, an unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up her throat and threating to spill out between clenched teeth.
he was my family, too.
jiyeon goes downstairs and dutifully begins to prepare dinner for the three of them that are left. dad’s portion will be set to the side to cool off, and then immediately put into the fridge since there is no telling when he’ll drag himself back home. her portion will go forgotten on the kitchen island, untouched and left to spoil. mom’s portion will be perfectly plated on a bed table and then brought up to her room where jiyeon will spend the rest of the evening begging her to eat something.
it’s frightening how suddenly the waves of grief hit her, even now. she is cooking by the stove one moment and soundlessly sobbing in their deserted kitchen the next. she’ll swallow it back down and compose herself; maybe she’s still waiting for the permission to allow herself to wallow in her grief unabashedly.
it’s a tireless thing, a thankless task, to pretend to have it together even in the face of death.
jiyeon sniffles wetly once, and begins the arduous trek to mom’s room.