AAE -- Twists of Fate

Part 1 -- Chapter 29

by LoveCR2

edited by All-About-AAE

 

 

Gwi-Sung comes out of the bathroom, freshly shaved and dressed in his suit pants, white button-up shirt, and striped blue tie. The savory aroma of doenjang jjigae mingles with the toasted, nutty smell of iced Americano.

 

He steps into the kitchen, to find Young-Mi standing at the cook top with an apron tied over her striped, long sleeve knit shirt and tan capris, stirring a simmering stew. On the table, a row of banchan sits between two place settings.

 

Hearing his footsteps, she glances over her shoulder with a warm smile. Stray locks curl against her damp forehead, and a soft glow blooms over her cheeks from the coil of vapor. "Breakfast is almost ready."

 

He sits at the table, leaning back against the chair. "Young-Mi, you should be getting ready for work right now. You don't have to cook every day for me."

 

"It's your first week back," she replies smoothly, turning off the burner and setting the wooden spoon aside. "You deserve proper home-cooked meals. And I'm so grateful you're letting me stay here."

 

She ladles the steaming doenjang jjigae into two porcelain bowls, carries them to the table, and carefully sets one in front of him before taking her seat across the table with a quiet sigh.

 

 

He sees the fatigue in Young-Mi's eyes and shakes his head. "I thought Sun-Mi worked hard. But every day you've come home after midnight, yet you're up before dawn to do the household chores and cook."

 

"If Sun-Mi were here, I'm sure she'd do the same."

 

"Sun-Mi? Make breakfast?" He chuckles. "Every morning she'd rush down the stairs at the last minute. I couldn't get her to eat, even when I cooked. She'd say she had to watch her weight, or she'd look fat on camera."

 

"Every woman facing the camera has that worry," Young-Mi acknowledges. "It's societal expectations -- something we accept when we choose this career."

 

"Even so, people need to take care of themselves, regardless of what the public wants to see," Gwi-Sung declares, his body tensing."I'll always wonder if the stress wore Sun-Mi down, so she had nothing left to cope after Woo-Jin died." Then his voice softens. "I don't want to see that happen to you as well."

 

"Don't worry, Mr. Jin. I'll be fine." She grasps a piece of kimchi with her chopsticks. "Please eat while it's hot."

 

Gwi-Sung swallows a spoonful of stew, his eyes widening with surprise. "This tastes amazing! How did you learn to cook like this?"

 

Young-Mi lowers her gaze. "My mother left when I was young, and my father was an alcoholic, so I had to do everything at home. I learned how to cook from the ajummas who lived nearby."

 

"That was very filial, taking care of your father while you had schoolwork, too. Not every daughter is so mature. He was a lucky man."

 

"You were lucky too, having Sun-Mi. I know how much she loved you."

 

He nods. "Yes, but I spoiled her too much. I had a housekeeper then, so she never learned the practicalities of living -- cooking, cleaning, laundry. She was a princess who read fairytales and believed in happily ever after."

 

"Sun-Mi was a dreamer," Young-Mi agrees. "But that let her see life differently from so many others. In a business that's naturally cynical, she saw the best in people and believed in them. She was a great inspiration for me."

 

Gwi-Sung leans in over his bowl. "Still, Sun-Mi could be stubborn and quite a handful at times. When she was young, she'd throw tantrums to get her way."

 

"Really? Sun-Mi did that?"

 

He nods, the memory brightening his face. "She'd actually hold her breath until she turned blue. It was a sight to see."

 

A comical grin splits his face. Young-Mi presses her lips together, trying to hold back, but a chortle bursts out. With a loud guffaw, Gwi-Sung throws his head back, and their shared laughter fills the house.

 

"She'll always be my little girl," Gwi-Sung says as the laughter fades, tears starting in his eyes. "This house has felt so empty without her."

 

"Sun-Mi's presence is still in everything here," Young-Mi reminds him. "Staying in her room has helped me to know her better -- I feel closer to Sun-Mi now than ever before. So I'm a little sad to think I'll be leaving soon."

 

"When will your apartment be ready to move back into?"

 

"It's been delayed again. They say maybe next week. I hope I'm not being a burden."

 

"Not at all." Gwi-Sung sets his spoon down. "There's something I've been meaning to ask, so I might as well do it now." He clears his throat. "Young-Mi, would you consider staying here permanently? I'd like it if you could."

 

Young-Mi looks down at her bowl. "Mr. Jin, I'm not sure that..."

 

He raises his hand, stopping her gently. "Since I brought you to Seoul, you've been like a second daughter to me. Having you here has been comforting."

 

"But there's the rest of my clothes and things. Where would I put them?"

 

"I'll move all of Sun-Mi's things out -- anything you don't want," he offers instantly. "There's plenty of space."

 

"I'd feel uncomfortable, taking Sun-Mi's room. What about your memories of her?"

 

"Like you said, there's memories everywhere here. You can make that room your own, so you'd be more comfortable." His voice thickens with earnest hope. "Say you'll stay. It will make me happy, and Sun-Mi would like that."

 

Young-Mi looks up, hiding a triumphant smile behind her hand. "When you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

 

 

Young-Mi stands and unties the knot at her waist. "I'm going up to get ready for work now."

 

She takes off her apron, folding it over the back of the chair before heading up the stairs. In the bedroom, the first pink traces of dawn stream down through the skylight, spreading a soft glow throughout the room. She stands at the foot of the bed, looking at Sun-Mi's photograph on the wall.

 

"Tsk, tsk! Such an unfilial daughter, Jin Sun-Mi -- leaving your elderly father on his own," she chides the smiling image. "Someone has to step in for you, and it looks like that will be me. Just like at MBS."

 

Stepping to the wardrobe, she opens the double doors wide. Trailing her fingers slowly over the clothes, she contemplates which of Sun-Mi's suits to wear. Her hand settles on a smoke gray Prada skirt suit, lifting it from the hanging bar.

 

Holding the suit, she turns back to the photograph and studies Sun-Mi's frozen smile. "My only regret," she smirks, "is that you won't feel what it's like to go from being someone, to no one -- all but forgotten."