Work Text:
In-hye gave her an email address and a phone number along with the money. “He told me to pass it along to you,” she said over the video call. “He said to contact him if you ever need anything.” In-kyung raised an eyebrow and kept her mouth shut. Beside her, Jong-ho looked hurriedly away from the screen. They were such busybodies.
“I won’t be needing anything. Really, you don’t need to worry about me. I have my own apartment now, you know, my own apartment!” She was just fine on her own: she had thirty billion won, a new apartment, and a new job. A small start-up company had welcomed her with open arms and ignored the public attention she had received over the past few months, most likely because their desperation to hire an accountant matched her desperation to find a job. She also enrolled in English classes, because she refused to let her weakness remain vulnerable to people.
The others just murmured their agreements that In-joo needed nothing at all, because they could see that she was fine, and one by one, they left the call: In-hye and Hyo-rin for dinner with friends, and In-kyung and Jong-ho for class.
Her bedroom was filled with the echo of their goodbyes, and then even those disappeared and left it in a pit of silence. She looked it over, at its sturdy walls, mini-balcony, and stainless steel kitchen. It was beautiful and clean and perfect, and it was everything she had ever wanted. She wanted this, remember, Oh In-joo? She begged for it, so she should enjoy it.
…
First, as soon as In-kyung departed and sorted out her belongings with In-joo, she sold their old home for just under two million won. She only kept their kitchen supplies, their dining table, and old family heirlooms and photo albums. The rest of it, including any of In-hye’s things per her request, went to charity or the trash. Their parents wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. They probably wouldn’t even know they moved out until a year later.
Second, she furnished her new home. Their mattresses had always been hand-me-downs from family members or bought half-price at a flea market, and In-joo had never slept with a bed frame. She spent an hour choosing the comfiest mattress in the store down the street, and another two hours debating between white and brown frames, matching the frame with a nightstand, and wondering who could even appreciate it if she bought a couch. In the end, she decided not to get a couch. She was in no mood to have visitors, anyway.
Family calls were reserved for special occasions and important news. It was hard enough to get in touch with In-hye, as busy as she made herself seem with museums and commissions and whatnot, and she didn’t want to pull In-kyung and Jong-ho away from their studies for any more time than necessary.
For the first time ever, it was just her and her apartment, and her life was no longer led by her duty as the eldest daughter and the motherly sister. She had time carved out to be Oh In-joo, to find out who that person was without her family. It was nice to be selfish for a change, to not be responsible for others’ food, shelter, and feelings. Six months into her probationary period, in her newly furnished apartment, In-joo admired her bed frame, her nightstand, her kitchen, her things, and slept soundly.
…
Her coworkers were nicer than she expected. They made sure never to speak of Jeongran or the recent election, and they did not alienate her because of it. The job itself was just a standard nine to five with softly spoken, simple conversations about weekend plans and finishing up reports. She went home, cooked, and slept. The next day, she did the same, and on and on.
She always had her lunch outside. It was good for her to see the cherry blossoms fall and wonder how In-kyung was enjoying the spring blossom in America.
“Oh In-joo?” A coworker — Kim Hye-seok, mother of three, spent a few extra company dollars last week on a company trip to bring her sons some souvenirs — held a cup of cold brew. “Would you like some?”
In-joo thanked her and accepted it. It was warm outside, and the drink woke her from longing thoughts. She was here in Korea, where she wanted to be, and In-kyung was in America, where she was supposed to be. She was enjoying coffee with a coworker, who could be a friend if In-joo bought a couch and invited her over.
Hye-seok was telling her about her sons: two of them were in secondary school, and the other was in primary school, and they were all enrolled in piano lessons across the street from their house. They were getting good grades, studied hard, and practiced the piano every day, and would In-joo like to have dinner with them anytime soon?
In-joo almost spit out her drink. “What? Me?” Hye-seok nodded. “Why?”
Hye-seok furrowed her eyebrows. “Well, because… just because.”
She swallowed. “Do you want something from me?”
“No, just — nothing at all. If you don’t want to go to dinner with us, that’s fine. The offer is open whenever you’re ready.” She smiled at her; it was motherly and foreign. Then she left her alone. In-joo finished the drink in one gulp and went back to work.
Hye-seok asked again the following week. In-joo ignored the twisting feeling in her gut and accepted the invitation for dinner that Saturday evening, obeyed her plea not to bring wine or fruit, but bought her youngest son a toy truck. In-kyung had been a tomboy, and she had begged their mother for a toy truck that looked like that one. They hadn’t been able to buy it for her, but In-kyung played with Jong-ho’s toys when she went to live with their grandaunt.
In-joo doubted Hye-seok’s kids needed more toys, but she still gifted it to bestow her gratitude and to ensure there was no more give-and-take than necessary. Hye-seok invited her to dinner; In-joo gave her son a toy. That should be it: no hidden agendas to uncover and no debts to pay off.
Hye-seok’s sons set the table, and she and her husband served the dishes. They bickered as they ate, teasing the youngest one about a piano recital, and the oldest one talked about studying abroad next year. In-joo stayed silent and answered and asked questions when necessary to keep up the appearance of interest and niceties.
Afterwards, she bought two bottles of soju, went home, stuck one in the fridge, and drank the other until she couldn’t tell left from right.
It wasn’t Hye-seok’s fault. She had good intentions. She probably saw a lonely woman in her thirties, knew her sisters were out of the country and she was divorced, and thought that In-joo could use some charity. In-joo wasn’t sure which was worse: befriending someone to use them, or befriending someone to pity them.
Two weeks passed before Hye-seok made another offer, and after In-joo turned it down, she never asked again.
…
She had never liked the outdoors, had never considered herself to be that adventurous, but maybe this new Oh In-joo could take a hike in the mountains and find peace. She found herself near Choi Hee-jae’s old hideout in the woods several times, and she wondered what happened to the dog that bit In-kyung. It was no surprise when, on her fourth weekend in a row hiking in familiar territory, the man himself appeared and invited her into the cabin that was once their refuge.
“I never took you for a tea person.” The kettle whistled and he poured the water into chipped mugs with green tea bags.
“What were you expecting?”
“I thought you were more of a whiskey or scotch man.” His son preferred bourbon on the rocks, and she thought of clandestine meetings at a bar with low lighting and technicolor screens.
He looked fairly amused at her impression and gestured to the cabinet above the stove. “That’s reserved for special occasions.”
In-joo insisted that this was a special occasion: it was the first time she had seen him since he broke out of prison and rescued Do-il’s mother while his son testified in her favor. In the waiting room, Do-il had hidden his injuries suffered from Won Sang-ah’s men and the lingering fear that his father would abandon them again, all to reassure her that he had reached out to her and tried to tell her that he was safe.
Hee-jae frowned at the reminder. “How is he doing?”
In-joo bristled. “How would I know?”
He held his hands up and grimaced. “I just thought, since you’re important to him, that you would keep in touch.”
“There’s no reason for us to keep in touch.” He schooled his surprise back into blankness. Unlike his son, it seemed he had no practice in maintaining a stony poker face. In-joo decided to push the right buttons. “Why don’t you keep in touch with him?”
He looked away from her. “He didn’t leave any contact information. His mother didn’t leave anything for me, either.”
“So, it’s just us in Korea, then,” In-joo said. Two people who had chosen to be left behind.
He looked back at her fondly. “Would you like to learn how to shoot a gun?”
…
His son had tried to teach her that once, but she had not been able to use it. With Choi Hee-jae, she learned the ins and outs of five different pistols in three weeks as her weekly hikes turned into bouts of target practice. He lined up empty soju bottles on dead tree stumps and taught her not to flinch. It was simple enough if she imagined loading the bullets into the chamber as plugging numbers into a spreadsheet.
She said nothing about it on their next family video call. One of In-hye’s paintings was selected to be put on display at a museum in the Netherlands, and each of them sent gifts to the girls’ tiny, third-story flat in Amsterdam. In-hye and Hyo-rin were so happy that In-joo envied them; a second later, she regretted the feeling immediately. She told herself she should be happy for them as In-hye opened up the presents. In-kyung and Jong-ho bought her new brushes, and In-joo bought her a dress. In the background, she spied another small gift bag.
“Who is that from?” she asked, ready to investigate a potential suitor or a conman trying to sweep her eighteen-year-old sister off her feet.
Hyo-rin raised an eyebrow. “Choi Do-il sent her drawing pencils and paper. He calls us sometimes to make sure we’re handling our money well. You two aren’t talking?”
“Sshh, Hyo-rin, In-joo-unnie is still in denial,” In-hye deadpanned.
This was blatant disrespect. “Yah, in denial of what?”
In-kyung’s face betrayed no emotion. “In-hye, she just needs some more time. I don’t think I’m ready for another brother-in-law, either.”
“In-kyung, don’t encourage her!”
“Can I say something, noona?”
“No, Jong-ho, don’t butt in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It irked her that they all thought of her as some lovesick fool who would fall for another man who wanted to use her and her money. But that wasn’t Choi Do-il either, was it? He had saved her life many times, and he had saved her money even more often. He took a lesser share so that her sisters would get their money. He kept his promises for ten billion won.
That was that, then. He was paid ten billion won for his efforts, and he needed nothing else. Money was what he worshiped, and she would not come in between their love affair.
But here he was, sending gifts to her sister and checking up on the girls regularly. There had to be a reason for it. There had to be something he wanted.
…
In the middle of July, when humidity spread across the city like a warm blanket, In-joo picked out a couch and ordered it to be delivered near noon. This was her mistake: the two movers were struggling under the summer heat, and she had little to no upper body strength to help them significantly. Standing between them and the entrance to her building, she began to regret not knowing any of her neighbors and refusing to buy a dolly when a voice behind her called out: “Do you need some help?”
It was — but why —
A hand reached out, caught one end of the couch, and lifted. The movers turned and thanked him, promising a drink after the couch was moved into Ms. Oh In-joo’s apartment, and the couch nearly slipped out of his hands.
Do-il turned, searching for her, finding her immediately. He looked the same: still built, nearly unreadable, and handsome. But he seemed lighter, like there was no chain around his neck or a weight tied to his ankle, and he smiled as soon as they recovered from the shock of a chance meeting. Choi Do-il was here, helping her move a couch into her apartment with a smile that sent her back months ago to uncertain goodbyes in an airport.
She nodded back to him and led the way to her place, not wanting to have what would most certainly be an awkward conversation in front of the two movers. She was keenly aware of where he was, a few feet away from her, cramped in the corner of the elevator, and she felt his eyes on her through eleven floors of silence.
He had a boyish, sweet smile. It was unbecoming of him. A con man whose only god was money, with that smile? She could never believe it.
Still, he kept it on even after he and the movers situated the couch in the living room according to her requests. Even as Do-il held out his hand as if they were strangers, he wore that smile and said, “Hello, Oh In-joo. It’s been a while.”
She greeted him with his full name, enjoying the surprise and pleasure that she wasn’t addressing him as an executive manager, and shook his hand. She thought of lingering touches, a note in his pocket and a flash drive in her hands, and pulled away.
“Have you been well?”
“Yes.” She was doing better now that she hiked three miles in the woods and practiced firing illegal weapons with his father on the weekends. But she wasn’t going to admit that. “I thought you were going to live without contacting anyone for a while.”
“It has been a while,” he repeated. Silence lapsed as they stood there, unsure of what to say or what to do.
She snapped her fingers. “Let me show you around.” The kitchen appliances were perfect and new, and did Do-il see these hardwood floors? They were repainted before she moved in. In their old house, the oven broke when she and In-kyung tried baking In-hye a birthday cake one year, and the board right in front of her bedroom would always creak, so her mother always caught her trying to sneak out at night. “I’m so glad Halmoni left this for me in her will. She must have felt guilty about everything.”
In-joo winced — she had poured freezing water over her excitement and his patient attention. Do-il cleared his throat. “Are you busy today? Will you be having guests over?”
“No, not at all.”
“Do you want to go somewhere with me?”
His expectant look was gentle. She couldn’t look at it. His hands were fidgeting with his car keys. Her mouth ran dry. “Where?”
“Anywhere you want. What were you going to do today?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It seems to be a habit of mine, nowadays.”
“I’m out of touch with my favorite habit.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Looks like you need help figuring out what to do today. That’s why I’m here.”
She almost let out an insulted huff. She didn’t need any help. But he was a business partner. He would probably lead her to another high-class bar, pay for the drinks, and tell her about another corrupt politician he planned to rob. So, she scrunched her nose at him to convey her tiny amount of displeasure, then grabbed her things and followed him out the door.
He filled the drive with updates: his mother had settled into their place in Greece. She was receiving weekly treatments at the local hospital, and she was regaining her strength. He bought them a two-story home on the outskirts of town, and his mother was learning English so she could befriend their neighbors. He was visiting because his mother had insisted that he take some time for himself, that she could take care of herself just fine and he didn’t need to stay by her side 24-7. Really, he thought his mother kicked him out to have the place for herself.
Do-il’s voice brightened as he talked about his mother. Her own mouth curled upward at his hope. He was happier there. Maybe this was who Choi Do-il truly was: a kind-hearted man who loved his family.
Then she thought of his father, alone in the woods with a truckload of weapons, and threw that theory out of her mind.
They pulled into the parking lot of the furniture store where she had already spent a couple hundred thousand won on a couch, nightstand, and bedframe. “Here? You brought me to an IKEA?”
“You’ve been living in that apartment for nine months, but you only have four pieces of furniture in the whole place. I thought you would like to decorate it more.”
He parked the car and avoided her open-mouthed stare as he stepped out. Was it normal to feel flustered because of a trip to IKEA? She didn’t want to know. Maybe he was working with someone at an IKEA. That was even more ridiculous. If he was laundering money for someone connected to IKEA, it would be the CEO, who was nowhere near Seoul.
“In-joo?” He knocked on the window. “Is something wrong?” Do-il looked genuinely concerned, and it spurred her to brush off her confusion and lead the way into the department store.
…
“Those drapes won’t match the dining tablecloth.” Do-il pointed to another one. “Get those, instead.”
In-joo tapped her foot on the floor. “I don’t like that color. Who gets green window drapes?”
“Who gets green tablecloth?”
“It’s called spring mint, and it looks nice.”
“Those drapes are the same color.”
“But they’ll look so bright next to the walls.”
He sighed and offered another solution. “Then repaint the walls.”
“I don’t want to repaint the walls; that would cost too much money,” she said on instinct, then remembered the number in her bank account.
He quirked an eyebrow. She laughed, and he joined in, bumped her shoulder with his, and still grabbed the color she picked out as they made their way to the paint section.
…
Their haul consisted of new drapes, new tablecloth, several cans of cream paint, and picture frames. Do-il had suggested the frames, had said there wasn’t enough of her in the apartment, and she had struggled not to blush. It was harder in front of the store clerk, who looked at them the way single people looked at newlyweds: wistfully and spiked with jealousy. It was infuriatingly more difficult when Do-il grabbed her wrist, stopped her from paying, and handed the clerk his own card.
The clerk squeaked out a soft aww; Do-il patted her hand and whispered, “Don’t worry about it.” She pursed her lips and whispered back, “Do you think I’m poor?”
“Of course not,” he said, and pushed their cart to the car. “I just wanted to remind myself of how rich I am.”
“There he is. Indulging in what is most sacred to him.”
“Did you expect anything else?”
…
It was late by the time they ate dinner at a nearby pojangmacha and returned home with her new supplies. The moment she stepped through the door, she could see the color on the walls and the accessories to match with it, and she planned where to hang the pictures of In-kyung and In-hye on the walls.
Do-il nodded along. He looked like the perfect man, standing there with his collar popped up, ready for her to grab and bring his mouth to hers.
That mouth was saying something. He was staying at a hotel nearby. He should get going. In-joo heard none of it.
“The view is nice,” she said, and hid her face from him, opening the balcony and facing the night breeze instead. “You can see the whole city and the river.”
“It’s pretty.” He stood close behind her: his chest near her back, the curve of his shoulder brushing against hers. “In-joo. Should I come by tomorrow and help you repaint?”
He had already paid for her new things and had already paid her tenfold throughout their time together. She had already paid him ten billion won. Now he was offering his services for something other than laundering money?
“Why did you come back to Korea?”
Do-il took a deep breath, put his hands on his hips, and when he spoke, his voice was full of indignation. “Only two people tie me to this country: my father and you. I couldn’t bring myself to visit him. I chose you, instead.”
His blatant honesty impressed her, but the flattery that accompanied it terrified her. She refused to acknowledge the way it made her look for his sincerity, and said, “I don’t know how to paint walls. I was going to hire someone. Don’t you have to sand them first?”
He broke into a laugh. “I don’t know how to paint them either.”
“If you ruined my walls while painting them, I would have charged you for the damages.”
He knew she was serious. “My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
“Then why would you ask to paint with me?”
He looked down at his hands. “I told you, I’m out of touch with my favorite habit. If you had said yes, I would have done it again.”
Do-il observed her carefully. She knew she was gaping at him. There was nothing she could say. Her thoughts seemed to slow and stop in a sludge of uncertainty.
He opened his arms with an almost pleading look, and she stepped forward into the hug. Her head fit on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck, and his hand stroked her hair. Her heart pounded and she felt like a child clinging onto false hope in fairytales.
The last time they saw each other, she thought they would never meet again. She didn’t place her bet on empty promises like I’ll see you again, but then she found out it hadn’t been just a meaningless phrase, one said to acquaintances at the airport. It had been a hint at the thirty billion won that arrived in her account a month later.
This hug felt like another promise, one she had faith in. With Do-il, an ulterior motive would reveal itself in due time.
“Show me how it looks,” he said. “I want to see how it turns out.”
“I will,” she said. “I’ll be the first person who can text or email you.”
“I would have liked that, but In-hye and Hyo-rin beat you to it.”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
…
Underneath blooming pine trees, she ate her lunch and blushed at the thought of helping her as anyone’s favorite habit. When Hye-seok offered her a cold drink, In-joo invited her over and promised to try her best to cook well for her and her family.
This time, dinner was calmer. Her youngest son marveled at the fireworks over the Han River. They all complimented her cooking and her interior decor. Looking at the framed pictures on her wall, Hye-seok nearly tried setting In-hye up with her oldest son before In-joo told her that she and Hyo-rin were living abroad together for the rest of their lives.
Hye-seok changed the subject quickly. “Those are lovely curtains. You have a good eye.”
“Thank you. My friend and I picked it out together.”
It felt nice to say it: Hye-seok didn’t need to pity her or keep bothering her with drinks at lunchtime, because In-joo did have friends, contrary to popular belief. Because she and Do-il were something like friends, she sent him pictures of her newly painted walls and redecorated apartment. Thanks for keeping up with your little habit, she wrote.
The response was almost immediate. How else would I show off my money?
…
There was a six-hour difference between Korea and Greece. So, why would he send Good morning texts when she woke up? Did he never sleep? She accused him of not staying healthy due to sleep deprivation, and he replied that he was just going to sleep now, good night and good morning. This was how her mornings began with a bundle of light inside her, sweet and content. Then, she sent Good night texts while he was eating dinner, and he told her to sleep well and not to work too hard, because she was a billionaire and really didn’t need to work at all.
Summer came and went with a blur. The only events that stood out were a trip to the department store and dinner with a coworker; these were interspersed with shooting lessons from Choi Hee-jae. In-kyung and Jong-ho stayed abroad to finish up some summer classes and internships. In-hye and Hyo-rin discovered how fun bar hopping was, and completely ignored their older sisters’ advice to stay away from them.
In-joo had expected her soul to become one with the apartment slowly, the way each corner of a house livened with memory. But the living room was too hollow and the kitchen was too empty. With time, she told herself. All she needed was more time.
In September, after nearly a year of her probationary period, her sentence was reduced to nothing due to good behavior and the entire ordeal being swept under the rug by the media. The news had the attention span of a toddler. Everyone forgot about the trial, and In-joo returned to the comforting blanket of anonymity wherever she went.
She celebrated with a drink at the bar they once frequented, took a picture, and texted him: You’re not the only person who got their charges dropped. I am no longer a criminal!
This time, it was met with radio silence. She waited a day before allowing worry to occupy her mind. Was he all right? Did something happen?
Even at work, Hye-seok noticed her worry. “Are you meeting that friend of yours again?”
In-joo bit her nails. It was a hard habit to break. “I hope so,” she said.
Do-il replied just under the 48-hour mark of a potential kidnapping — she would have reported it to the authorities in Greece had he not shown signs of life by then — with a simple Congratulations. That was typical of him: disappearing, then coming back as if he hadn’t left.
Are you all right? She hesitated, then sent: Stop making me worry.
His reply made her want to strangle him. Sorry. Something came up.
If he wanted to run away from this, she wouldn’t let him. The only thing that allowed him to escape her wrath last time was the warrant for his arrest. She called him, and he picked up right away.
“Something came up? Explain.”
“My mother’s condition worsened.” His voice was strained. “I had to rush her to the hospital. She’s okay for now, but they need to perform surgery.”
She imagined him in the hospital alone, lost in his thoughts and shaken. Then, another image: Do-il, twelve years old, being dragged away from his mother, screaming out a single question she refused to acknowledge for twenty years. She could almost hear him; the sounds caught her heart and squeezed. “I can come.”
He sounded startled. “In-joo, you don’t have to.”
“I will come, Choi Do-il.” She tapped her screen a few times and booked the next flight to Greece. “There, I already bought the ticket. I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you,” he said, with a myriad of emotions held in a single breath.
…
He was waiting outside her gate when she landed. It was easy to spot him in the crowd of tourists, and she walked as quickly as she could without breaking into a sprint. As she drew nearer, he looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept in days. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her tightly. His shoulders slumped with relief, and the sharp worry inside In-joo receded to a dull ache.
“How is she?”
“Recovering. She was happy to hear that you were on your way.” He pulled back and brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. She held her breath, because he looked at her like she was something valuable. Game changer, he had once said. She did not believe him then, but now, he acted like it was a universal truth. “I’m happy that you came, too.”
Do-il walked them to his car, asked about her flight, and lifted her luggage into the trunk. He promised to show her around their house after they visited the hospital, apologizing for the lack of hospitality, but she reassured him that it was all right. She was here to see his mother and help him take care of her. There was no need to treat her like some honored guest.
His mother was in a private room at the hospital. Although her condition worsened, she certainly looked happier than she had been in Seoul. Her cheeks were fuller and rounder, and when she spoke, it was without layers of hidden fears and caution.
“Oh In-joo, thank you for coming,” An So-yeong said, shaking In-joo’s hand. “And thank you for everything. I wasn’t able to tell you that.”
Warmth crept up her neck, and she scratched the back of her head. “I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have helped without my sisters and your son.”
“My son said you were very brave.” Do-il shifted uncomfortably, looking at anything but her.
“Brave? He’s the one who saved me all the time.”
“You’re the one who fought Won Sang-ah.” Do-il’s gaze had finally settled on the floor. “Her biggest mistake was underestimating you.”
In-joo looked down at her hands. Only scars remained, but she found herself fighting back emotion, as if she had been burned again. She forced strength into her shaking voice and asked Do-il’s mother about her life in Greece. So-yeong talked over her thoughts, soothing the ever-present hurt in her mind, and gave In-joo something to latch onto and avoid being swept away by bitter memories.
…
The plan was to stay in Greece for five days as his mother recovered. She had told her employers that there was a family emergency she needed to attend to, and they had let her go without any further questions. She had booked a hotel near the sea, but Do-il had apparently already prepared a guest room for her.
“When did you have time to do this?” It was beautifully decorated, and there was a view of the city lights from the balcony. On the nightstand were toiletries she had forgotten to pack. It smelled like the sea, calming and comforting. “I only booked the flight this morning.”
“I already prepared this room a long time ago.” That made sense. Surely, he had other friends in mind, and if In-hye and Hyo-rin ever visited him, he would have a room prepared for them, too. This couldn’t all have been for her if she had agreed to come to Greece with him.
The next day, In-joo bought ingredients at the local farmer’s market, practicing her rough English to navigate the streets, and prepared dinner while Do-il picked his mother up from the hospital. They arrived home to the smell of homemade chicken stew; it was what In-hye ordered whenever she was sick.
So-yeong praised her cooking, excited that there was food that tasted like home, and requested that she teach Do-il how to cook well, which In-joo waved off with a laugh. Do-il thanked her and insisted that he take care of the dishes since she cooked. There it was: the give-and-take of a relationship. She cooked, so he cleaned. It was like they were tracking debits and credits in a bank account. The numbers needed to add up.
In-joo counted each act as the days continued. She took his mother outside, pushing her wheelchair through the market, and he took her to an ice cream shop as So-yeong rested in her room. She continued to cook each day, and he bought her souvenirs to send to In-kyung and In-hye. They bickered about what to give them like they had argued about the color of her window drapes, and she felt like she had known him all her life.
On the fourth day, it was just her and his mother in the house while Do-il took care of errands. They made small talk about Greece and Korea until the conversation reached its limit of meaningless chatter. So-yeong said, “Again, I must thank you.”
“There’s really no need,” In-joo insisted, but So-yeong shook her head.
“As much as my son saved your life, you saved his.” She tried to sound like she was describing their next meal, like it was nothing of great importance that she had lost her son for two decades. “Anyone who tied an orchid to that tree died and became a part of them. He was a ghost, but look at him now: he’s living.”
From the balcony, they saw Do-il’s car roll into the driveway. He stepped out with a bag of groceries, and she saw all the items on the list she gave him piled in the paper bag. His eyes were shining bright with energy and an easy smile crossed his face when he saw them. He waved, and with a spark of delight, she waved back. It was such a stark difference from the cold, clinical look he had when they first met.
His mother was watching them fondly. Her expression reminded her of the store clerk in Seoul, the one that thought she and Do-il were smitten newlyweds moving into their new home. “You helped free him from death, In-joo. I can see why he keeps you close.”
So that was why. She was happy to have helped him gain his freedom and his family. He deserved it. He may not be aware that he was a good, kind man — most of the time, he was, if his father was not involved — but he should know that he at least deserved the things that were taken away from him. But why was she disappointed that this was all he wanted from her?
…
“There’s enough leftover food that you cooked for my mother. Let’s get dinner for the two of us,” Do-il said on her last day in Greece.
She frowned. “What’s wrong with my cooking?”
He met her fire with patience. “Nothing. Don’t you want to try Greek cuisine?”
She did, but she was also inclined to argue with him. “Don’t you miss Korean cuisine?”
“If you’re here, then there’s nothing that I miss.”
It was said casually, without effort. In-joo was falling off a cliff into a pit of snakes. But he was talking about food. Right. They were talking about dinner, and nothing else. “Where do you want to go?”
As expected, he planned the evening down to the smallest details. His mother insisted that they leave her alone, as she liked taking care of herself and was fully capable of it, and she thought that the two of them would enjoy a night out together.
Do-il ran through his itinerary like he was teaching a class: first, sight-seeing in the village square; next, dinner at a seaside restaurant; finally, a night cruise along the Aegean Sea. He said it all detachedly, while his fingers tapped the steering wheel unrhythmically.
He brought her to a quaint village, where they seemed to step into the Middle Ages. Do-il talked about the architecture and some history that he learned while studying at Wharton. She was more focused on the way the sun hit the arch of his nose and the curve of his throat bobbing whenever he noticed her staring at him for a little too long. Dinner brought them closer, an invisible line blurring, and they leaned on each other at the table, basking in the restaurant’s air-conditioning.
“I used my vacation hours for this,” In-joo whined. “And you bring me hiking through a medieval village.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you were tired. You’ve been helping us all week.” Do-il was sulking, truly apologetic about his crimes.
“I should arrest you for this.”
“I’d gladly let you.”
Do you have handcuffs back home? The request died on her lips. He was watching her, waiting for her reply, begging her to break the tension clean. She only had to angle her neck upward, and the job would be done. But that was the question, wasn’t it? Was he doing this for another job, another motive? Or was he as lonely as she was, stuck where they’d always dreamed of staying, yet having none of their expectations matched?
“Are you happy here?” she asked.
It took a few moments for him to answer. “Everything is going as planned. My mother is safe, and so are you. I ended up in Greece, and no one is hunting us down.”
“But are you living well?” In Seoul, work occupied her mind until dinner did, and then it was errands and making sure In-kyung’s loans were paid and checking in on In-hye and Hyo-rin. Other than that, it was English and shooting lessons, which gave her time for herself. It helped whenever the apartment seemed too large and quiet, and she could hear Hwa-young’s screams and Won Sang-ah’s laughter. “Are you moving on?”
He gave her a delicate look and carefully placed his arm around her shoulders. It was instinct that caused her to lean her head against his neck, and she felt him take a steadying breath before he spoke. “When they tied my orchid to the tree, I told the General I wished for my mother to live well and for my father to die. One of those came true. The other was an angry, clueless child’s desire for misdirected revenge.”
She remembered the rush of relief that tempered her guilt when the orchid tree withered from the acid, relief that no one would give Do-il a flower of death and arrange an accident for him. She couldn’t imagine having to look at that tree day after day, a constant reminder of abandonment and threat. She moved closer, looping her arm around his waist, and he placed his chin on her head, comforted. “I’m happy that my mother is healing and free. But I still don’t understand my father. One night, he was there, and the next morning, he was gone. I heard nothing until you brought me to him twenty years later.”
“It’s all right to dislike your father.” She remembered what she said to In-kyung long ago. “Some people aren’t made to be parents. Your father may be one of those people.”
He accepted her answer with a small thank you and a kiss to her forehead that nearly made her lose self-control. Then, he recounted his life in Greece: living simply, cooking for himself and his mother, sitting on the beach alone. He didn’t have to work, and besides, he was still trying to figure out what he wanted to do with all his time. There had only ever been the job he was assigned and the money he was paid.
“Before everything, what did you want to do?” she asked, a deep pang in her chest.
“I don’t remember,” he said.
Silently, they ate and watched the tide roll in and out.
After dinner, they walked along the pier, and the city lights reflected clearly on the sea. He led the way to a small dinghy that looked like it would capsize at any moment. Do-il jumped on, and she chose to admire him and his fitted pants from the shore. He turned back and stretched his hand out to help her in, but her feet remained glued to the dock. “Are you sure this is safe? Don’t I need a life vest?”
“You don’t know how to swim?”
“When would I have learned how to swim?” Do-il had such a talent for souring her mood quickly.
“They don’t teach you that in high school?”
“They teach you that in America?”
“Yes,” he said, incredulous.
Irritation was starting to ruin the night. In-joo crossed her arms. “Yah, don’t make me feel like an idiot again.”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Do-il said, and fished out a bright orange vest from a box in the boat. “Here, put this on.”
“It looks ugly.”
Do-il tilted his head and reached his first level of exasperation, which he usually tried to remedy by lecturing her. “In-joo, if you don’t want to get in the boat, we can skip this part. But if you want to see the city, you have to put this on. This is for your safety. I’m not a trained lifeguard. I can’t — ”
In-joo cackled at his seriousness. “Okay, okay, Do-il-ah,” she said, “I’ll put it on.”
“What did you call me?” He clutched the life vest tighter, his fingers making creases in the nylon. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Do-il-ah…”
“In-joo-ya,” he called informally, like he was hers alone. He tossed the life vest back in the box, stepped out of the boat, and cradled her face in his hands. “In-joo-ya.”
She lunged forward, unable to remember the reasons behind her hesitation. He was gentle, barely giving a peck to her lips, and she longed to kiss him with greater force, because he was being a gentleman and she wanted to remind him that she was not fragile.
“Do-il-ah.” But she stopped them, and he looked crestfallen. “Wait. I just…”
How could she explain it? She trusted him, but the doubt remained: what if he needed something more than she could give? What if he wanted something other than this?
Do-il stepped away from her. “I’m sorry.”
Guilt marred her thoughts. “No, it’s not your fault. I do want — I’m just unsure of what we both want right now.”
He had the same expression as when he begged her to trust him in front of Won Sang-ah’s house: full of desperation, his heart at her mercy to mend or to break. “I have so much to say, but are you ready to hear it?”
She bit her nail and cursed their good and bad habits alike. “Not yet.”
He put his hands in his pockets, smoothed his expression over, and nodded. “It’s okay. You can take your time. Let’s go home.”
Funny, how his little two-story house had already become home to her.
…
After breakfast, So-yeong hugged her tightly and asked her to come back soon and visit them. She responded with a polite yes, hoping Do-il was out of earshot as he carried her luggage into the car.
The airport was, as always, a familiar scene. “I’ll see you again,” she said, the air around them still awkward and stale as it had been all morning, and started to walk away. She heard nothing but the sound of her heartbeat. Do something, she screamed inside her head. Show me what you want.
A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. He hugged her from behind, and pure bliss rushed through her. She fit snugly in his arms, and she wanted to give him everything she could. Do-il, who had been manipulated and used for years, and still chose to be kind. Do-il, who had protected her when it meant risking his life and his money. Do-il, who took her request to wait with patience and grace.
“I’ll see you soon,” Do-il said. She replayed the way his eyes crinkled and the dimples appeared on his cheeks over and over until she fell asleep on the flight back to Seoul.
…
Their family had installed a locator app. It was primarily to track In-hye and Hyo-rin, because who knew what trouble they could run into, but now, it felt especially incriminating for In-joo.
“Unnie, tell me what you did in Greece.” In-kyung propped her face in her hands, elbows on the dining table, while Jong-ho was beside her, trying to study his dinner so he wouldn’t be attacked. Good. He knew his place.
“In-kyung, just eat your dinner.” It was the weekend, so she was still in bed and groggy with jet lag, but her sister’s nosiness had no rival. In-joo was sure that when In-kyung noticed her phone’s location, Jong-ho only encouraged her speculation and teasing.
“Was it Choi Do-il?” In-joo sputtered, trying to figure out the odds of In-kyung believing it was a business trip. Before she could come up with an answer, it dawned on her that her sister would never have fallen for that. “I was right, you do like him. Jong-ho, you have to pay for lunch tomorrow.”
Jong-ho said, “Yes,” like he always did, which was disgustingly romantic in a way that made her happy. In a way that made her remember everything that happened in the past week, which made her turn scarlet, which made In-kyung’s investigation skills tingle.
“Did something happen? Was there a kiss?”
“Yah, why would you say something like that?”
“In-kyung-ah has just been thinking about kissing a lot,” Jong-ho said, and In-joo wished she could reach through her screen and smack him. Ever since he won In-kyung over, he had become cheekier. One glance at In-kyung’s lovesick look was enough for her to scream, “GOODBYE NOW!” and end the call.
A few minutes later, she was attacked from another angle. In-hye’s text consisted only of three laughing emojis, with no further explanation.
In-joo buried her head in her pillow.
…
On her first day back at work, her employers welcomed her back with a stack of assignments atop her desk. They asked nothing and expected no explanations. Kim Hye-seok, on the other hand, approached her at lunch with a large tote bag that contained a heavy pot and a couple bottles of soju.
“I heard you had a family emergency,” she said with urgency. “Are you all right? Is it your sisters? Your parents? Do you need any help taking care of them or yourself?”
In-joo thanked her and rushed to reassure her that everything was fine, that her friend’s mother was sick and she wanted to help him. The moment Hye-seok discovered she was helping her male friend take care of his family, her eyebrows shot up and she gave a knowing grin. “Ah, I see.” She pushed the bag into In-joo’s arms. “Then share this with them, and stay healthy. Let me know when the wedding invitations come out.” She winked and laughed off In-joo’s protestations.
A year after her life upended, In-joo was getting used to doing things for herself. She was studying English, learning how to defend herself, decorating her apartment with a friend, and having a coworker’s family over for dinner. But this was what Hwa-young had taught her: kindness was never free, no matter how compassionate a person may seem. And this was what In-joo had known all her life: she was useful to people, whether as an older sister, employee, or naive woman who could sign any paper if she trusted someone.
At home, In-joo discovered Hye-seok’s pot held warm soup, and she had included a note to heat it up on the stove. There was a card from her youngest son, with a drawing of In-joo’s apartment and the view of the Han River. It said, Get well soon, noona and noona’s family!
Her breath caught; she sniffled and wiped her face. Maybe it wasn’t pity or use that motivated Hye-seok’s family to care for her. Maybe some people were just kind, and the kindest man she’d ever known might be just as sincere in his advances.
She wanted to believe the way she was falling for Choi Do-il, with his dinners, IKEA hauls, and his light, shy kiss. She hoped it was a love without debt, agenda, or selfishness. If it was, then she would accept it wholeheartedly, like Hye-seok’s soup, boiling on the stove. She hoped he would accept hers, as well.
…
The next weekend, she prepared her ambush with a new bottle of scotch. After months of practice, In-joo knocked down every target Hee-jae set for her, which was definitely a special occasion and cause for celebration.
“Good job.” He patted her back and poured her a glass. “There’s only one more thing you need to know: only trust your weapon and your wealth.”
It was an easy opening. “Your son said the same thing to me.”
“He was right.”
“He also said to keep my gun pointed at his back, and I would be safe.”
Hee-jae’s playful gaze turned mournful. “Sometimes, I wonder what they taught him. If they treated him well or like a traitor’s child.”
“You should ask him,” she said, fighting back startling tears, “because I think he’d like to tell you.”
“He would just ask me why I left.”
“Why did you?”
“I was afraid.”
“That’s a lie.” She wished Do-il were here to see this. If he saw her right now, fighting his father for him, then maybe it would cure that hopeless look on his face when she stopped their kiss. “You aren’t afraid of anything except losing them. But you lost them anyway.”
Hee-jae took a swig of scotch and winced. “What could I have done differently? If I had killed that man, I would have lost my son’s respect. If I had refused and stayed, they would have killed all of us. I thought they would stay alive if they joined the General, if I was branded a traitor and they were praised as loyalists.”
“Why didn’t you take them with you?”
“A twelve-year-old, on the run from a powerful organization? That’s no way to grow up.”
“So, you chose to leave them without any explanation.”
His face fell, any semblance of defensiveness crumbling. “When he was young, I always told Do-il that actions spoke love into someone’s heart more than any words can.”
In-joo closed her eyes. “You left so he would think less of you. You wanted him to hate you, so he could join them with dedication. You wanted him to convince them that he could be a good soldier, so they would spare his life.”
Understanding dawned, and with it, longing and fond exasperation consumed her. She ached for that lonely man in Greece, who loved money because he wanted to save his family, just as she did. His actions had shown her his capacity to love: holding her head in his lap, storming the enemy’s prison without a plan, confessing his crimes to reduce her prison sentence. Suddenly, there was more uncertainty about when Do-il began to love her than whether or not he truly did.
“I know it was a mistake to leave without a word. But it’s too late for me to atone.” Hee-jae finished his drink. Only melting ice cubes remained.
“Those are just words, Abeonim,” In-joo scolded, and slid a piece of paper with Do-il’s phone number and email address across the table. “If you really know it was a mistake, then you should apologize with your actions. They would speak forgiveness into someone’s heart more than any words can.”
…
He arrived with the snow, quietly and when she least expected it. She saw him from the bus stop a block away from her building in early November, after a few weeks of silence. Do-il stood out sorely, tall and bundled up in a hand-knit scarf and an oversized coat. He had spent months away on an island, and he couldn’t handle the cold anymore. He straightened as she approached, checking his collar and his watch and the bag in his hands. She never thought he could ever be nervous. White flecks fell on his black coat, and she brushed them off broad shoulders.
“Have you been well?” he said. In-joo nodded, asked the same question, and received the same lie. She wondered if he, too, had checked their message chat and thought of calling the other person every night.
“Are you here to see your father?”
“No,” he said, and his hug was becoming an expectation rather than a surprise. “I’m here to see you.”
His hands were cold. She wrapped them in hers, brought them to her mouth, and blew on them. “Let’s go inside.”
“My father called me a few days ago,” he said. “I have you to thank for that.”
“What did he say?” She faked nonchalance and avoided his eyes as they entered her apartment.
“Overdue apologies and explanations.” Do-il was still bitter, then, but at least his tone was not as acerbic as it was a year ago.
In the heated apartment, he looked even more hilarious. The coat seemed to swallow him whole, and his nose was nipped from the cold.
“Let me get your coat.” She grabbed the collars and peeled the layer off. Do-il let her manhandle the garment from him, and her fingers trembled as he watched her. He held his breath, standing so still that she thought time had stopped.
“Why did you talk to him?”
“I’m friends with your father, too, you know.”
“He told me.” Do-il looked warmer now; his cheeks were less red and his shoulders relaxed, no longer hunched up close to his neck. The scarf was next. She untangled it from its loop, unwinding heavy yarn from his neck.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” he said.
In-joo swallowed drily, bracing herself. “I thought you wanted something from me,” she admitted, and he shook his head. “I’m still not sure what you want.”
“How are you not sure?” There was that look again: dejected, perplexed.
“Tell me,” she said, because she needed to hear it to believe it.
“All this time, I wanted you, In-joo-ya. I want to spend time with you. I want to know you. I want to love you. Do you want that from me?”
Understanding and insecurity shone through his eyes. I wanted you, he said, and it was a certainty that he knew how much it meant to her. No stranger or so-called friend or even fiancé had ever wanted just her without thinking about how they could use her. Do-il must have seen this when he had discovered Hwa-young’s accounts in Singapore, and he had chosen to protect In-joo ever since.
Do-il, who wanted to protect In-joo forever, and was baring himself to her with a selfless love that she had only dreamt of her whole life. I wanted you, and for so long, without her knowing, In-joo wanted him, too: she wanted his arm slung around her shoulders and his hand in hers, walking through a department store or a medieval village. Wherever they were, she wanted him beside her, for no other reason but to be with her.
“Yes,” In-joo said. “I want that.”
Do-il blinked, paused for a bit, then smiled; slowly, desperation transformed into joy and relief. His pure delight was genuine, and again, she admired the dimples on his cheeks, as giddy as a child. “Good,” he said. “That’s good. I don’t know what to do now. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”
“I have a plan,” she said, and the last morsels of her restraint gave way. She grabbed his face and kissed him, delirious with the revelation that this love between a thirty-year old divorcée and a former money launderer felt true. He reciprocated immediately, pulling her closer, and for once, the apartment felt too small for her, too loud, because she could still hear the hum of the heater and the tick of the clock. She wanted to hear nothing else but him: the sound of surprise when she unbuttoned his shirt, the murmur of her name as he pressed kisses to her neck and her jaw. His hands wandered, sliding below the hem of her shirt, and she gasped at the startling ice-cold touch. She pulled him to the bedroom. She told him that she hadn’t broken in her new mattress yet, and he said that if he didn’t help her with that, it would be a disservice to his favorite habit.
…
coda.
It was In-hye who had told him to visit her in the summer. Apparently, she had noticed the bareness of In-joo’s apartment walls and the bored look in her eyes, and had sent Do-il as an early birthday gift.
“So, you’re getting relationship advice from my younger sister?” In-joo laid by his side with her fingers splayed out on his chest. He was playing with her hair, untangling it per her orders, since he had knotted it up in his fingers anyway.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Just barely,” she teased, and he kissed her for it. “Hold on. She texted me after Greece. Did you tell her anything?”
Do-il was about to die from embarrassment. “In-hye and Hyo-rin are very convincing people.”
In-joo looked at him with fake pity. “Aigoo, look at you. An expert money launderer, cracking under the interrogation of two nineteen-year-olds.”
He needed to explain before his reputation worsened. In-hye had called him about a loan that she and Hyo-rin wanted to take, and he had explained it in full and given his advice as best he could, but somehow, she could tell he was distracted. His behavior, In-joo’s phone locator app, and Hyo-rin’s incessant questioning led to the truth: “She found out you kissed me and ran away.”
“I didn’t run away!”
He pouted. “You have a habit of doing that. Then, you didn’t text or call me for weeks.”
“You’re so dramatic,” In-joo huffed, and he couldn’t win. He would rather be embarrassed than have her upset at him.
“Fine,” he said, and brought his lips to her forehead. “In-hye found out I didn’t know how to say what I wanted, so they coached me through it.”
In-joo looked like she didn’t believe him, or at least didn’t want to, and started laughing uncontrollably when his face turned beet red from the confession. “Do-il-ah, do you not have other friends?”
He didn’t. It wasn’t like he could chat with his former coworkers, and his college classmates all avoided him because he was, well, involved with the Russian mafia. He couldn’t exactly talk to the people whose deaths he faked because that would defeat the purpose of faking their deaths. Do-il sighed. “It’s not like you have very many friends.”
“I made a friend at work.”
“Name one other friend.” In-joo scoffed. “Name one other friend who’s not a criminal,” he amended, and she smacked his arm half-heartedly.
They were exhausted and close to falling asleep, but the conversation made him think of something else to say, all on his own. “About that habit of yours.”
“Yes?”
“Stop running away from me, please. I don’t think I can handle it a third time.”
He felt her smile, the curve of her mouth moving against his heart. “I promise I’ll break that habit of mine, as long as you keep yours,” she said blearily.
“Which habit is that?”
She mumbled his list of favorite habits: helping her, finding her after she ran away, protecting her and her family. He promised to keep them, and she promised to break hers, and they fell asleep in her home, content.