Phone Number
A brief silence settled over us. Eunju seemed to need a moment to process everything she’d just heard; she took a long sip of her grapefruit tea as if quenching some deeper thirst.
“That person you mentioned before… the one you liked?”
“Yeah. Minjeong and I were in the exact same boat. I liked her older sister, and that sister turned around and liked my older brother instead.”
“How could something like that even…”
Just hearing the story was enough to draw a pained little sigh out of her. But she was reacting too soon—I hadn’t even shown her the full mess of my family yet.
“Of course I didn’t resent my brother over that alone. Honestly, what I did to Minjeong was the same thing, wasn’t it?”
“Then what else was there?”
“Well… the truth is, I have a niece. Half of her looks like my brother, and the other half looks like the older sister of that election-obsessed girl…”
“Wha…”
Even Eunju hadn’t seen that coming; she actually covered her own mouth with her hand. My throat had gone dry too, so I took a sip of grapefruit tea myself.
“Why… are you suddenly telling me all this?”
“I already said, didn’t I? Tomorrow I’m visiting my brother’s grave for the first time. I know it makes me look petty, but I resented him so much. Knowing full well how I felt, why did it have to be her? The betrayal cut deep. And yet… eventually I forgave him.”
“Because… he’s family?”
“No. I won’t dress it up with pretty words. It’s just that I grew up a little. That’s what becoming an adult is, you know. Your feelings fade, but you start thinking your reason has gotten sharper, and you fool yourself into believing you’ve become wise.”
“…”
Eunju fell quiet all of a sudden. No matter how hard I thought about it, that was the only thing that came to mind right then.
The adults always say that with enough time everything fades, so there’s no point pouring your heart out and wearing yourself down.
They’re exactly right. And completely wrong at the same time.
They can say that because it’s already behind them. Looking back now, it feels like nothing.
But if it really was so insignificant, why did it consume every scrap of your mind back then?
Get smacked hard enough on the back of the head and the tears come pouring out. Just because you know the wound will heal later doesn’t mean the pain of your skull cracking open disappears in the moment, does it?
Adults love to mutter, “If only I’d known then what I know now…”
Isn’t that just a paradoxical kind of arrogance—beating up on your past self a little too hard?
“Then in the end… you didn’t really forgive him from the heart, did you?”
“Maybe not. But the important part is that, one way or another, the feelings do fade. And strangely enough, only the negative ones disappear. The good ones don’t fade at all—they inflate themselves instead. Call it nostalgia bias or path dependence, I don’t care. What’s wrong with wanting to remember only the good parts?”
It was true. The scar from the day Yu Jiyeon was taken from me had been so huge that I couldn’t see anything else. Lately, though, other things had started coming into focus with perfect clarity.
The memories I shared with my brother—the time, the places, the people. Now those came to mind first, not Yu Jiyeon.
“The reason you’re telling me all this is…”
“I think you already know. Of course it’s impossible right now. And even with time, the wound you took won’t heal clean. But… someday you’ll be able to forgive. This isn’t some solemn command that you must, or some paradox of truth that says you inevitably will. I just… hope it turns out that way for you too.”
“…”
Eunju was a smart kid. She definitely understood what I meant.
I had no idea what kind of wrong her father had committed. Maybe something light like an affair, or something heavy enough that he’d actually killed someone.
But it ends eventually. So I hoped the thing that took me eighteen years would take her even a little less time.
Clomp, clomp…
We had reached the area near her place. After I’d brought all that up at the café, the two of us hadn’t exchanged a single word.
Maybe that was why she accepted the escort so naturally—something she would normally have refused. Now the only thing left in front of us was the massive mixed-use complex she lived in.
“Well, I’ll stop here—”
“I don’t actually resent him.”
“…?”
Only then did Eunju turn her head to look at me. Her pupils were darting all over the place, and I could feel the nervous energy of someone who wasn’t even sure what she was saying.
“Your dad?”
“Yes. He’s already dead—what’s the point of resenting him? It’s just… the disappointment still hasn’t gone away. The disappointment that he wasn’t the person I thought I knew.”
“…”
So that was it. The thing I’d only figured out after eighteen years, she’d already understood ages ago. Of course the residue hadn’t completely vanished.
“We used to live out in the provinces. Near the ocean, so when I was little I was always burned black—nothing like I am now.”
“I’m something of a UV specialist myself, so I get it.”
I’d been in Seoul for a while, but once your skin tone darkens it doesn’t bounce back easily. Still, compared to the half-Black kid I used to be, I was probably somewhere around Middle Eastern now.
“Then I found out my dad wasn’t the person I thought he was. People around us tore into us with the most vicious criticism. Neighbors we’d been close to wouldn’t even return a greeting, and at school I got bullied so badly no one would help me.”
“I… didn’t know that.”
“I never told you. In the end Mom and I came to Seoul. And eventually I started living with my current father.”
“Well… I don’t know anything about your family, so maybe I shouldn’t say this, but your dad seems to care about you a whole lot.”
“He does. He cares so much it actually feels like a burden.”
“If that’s why you’re pushing yourself so hard, you don’t have to. It’s a kind of trickle-down effect. Your father cares about your mother. Naturally that includes you too.”
Just like the way I clung to Harin. Like Aunt said—someone who’d only been living with her for a few months, what real attachment could I have?
I just felt guilty toward my brother. I’d gotten so swallowed up by Mom’s last request that I kept telling myself I wanted to be a good dad without even realizing it.
So I felt sorry for Harin. I was hiding the fact that the affection I showed her was actually pretty twisted.
“I wish it were that simple—it would make me feel better.”
“Oh, it’s not? Don’t tell me your parents’ relationship has gotten bad lately?”
Apparently not that either. But that didn’t make sense.
No matter how much someone might want Eunju as a daughter, that affection was still rooted in feelings for their spouse.
If the marriage had already fallen apart, could they still pour that much love onto Eunju?
“There’s no getting better or worse. Because the mother who was supposed to receive that affection… isn’t in this world anymore.”
“…”
I was the type who barely blinked at most things, but this one actually startled me. What the hell was going on here?
Eunju’s biological father had died after leaving her with a huge disappointment when she was little. So her mother had married her current stepfather—and then her mother had died in the middle of all that too?
“That’s right. Even though Mom’s already gone, Father still cares for me the same as ever. Or maybe… he loves me even more than before. So of course it feels like a burden.”
“…”
Eunju gave an awkward, bitter little smile. That was the real source of the value confusion she was going through.
Someone giving love when there was no reason to give it. An act so noble it was almost pure, yet the person receiving it felt crushed by the lack of motive.
This was exactly my story with Harin, wasn’t it?
Maybe Harin felt the same way Eunju did. Of course Harin didn’t know any birth secrets.
But that didn’t make the unnaturalness of my actions disappear either.
That was why it felt like a burden. That was why she put up walls with me.
“Eunju? I don’t know if saying this will actually comfort you, but…”
“Anything is fine—just say it.”
“I’m the same as you.”
“What…?”
Was I always the person who went outside her expectations? She’d probably steeled herself, but the answer she wanted hadn’t come out.
“I don’t have either of the parents who raised me either. Dad died before I can even remember, and Mom died last year. Right now my aunt looks after me, but you know what’s funny? I still have family left.”
“Your niece…”
Eunju pieced it together instantly from what I’d said earlier. And at the same time she realized we were in nearly identical situations—just playing opposite roles.
“Exactly. Honestly, I was scared to look at my niece. No matter how you slice it, she was living proof that the two people I’d loved had betrayed me. And yet… somehow I got attached. I don’t know if it’s survivor’s guilt from being left behind in place of her parents, or just self-consolation. I just want her to be happy and free of any trouble. And more than anything… I don’t want her to hate me.”
“…”
Just like your father. I’d only met him twice, but the interest he showed toward Eunju was real.
Of course I couldn’t completely see through a person’s heart, but I could tell at least what he wanted from her.
He didn’t want her to feel distance. He didn’t want her to put up walls.
It was a strange family relationship born from pure chance, but he still wanted to keep protecting it.
“Sorry. I talked about a bunch of useless stuff, didn’t I?”
“No! Not at all… it wasn’t useless in the slightest.”
Eunju was fidgeting, overwhelmed by the huge secret she’d just learned. But the things she’d told me weren’t exactly light either.
It was a completely different method from Hyeonji, but we had still created a secret we shared.
“Okay, I’m really going to head in now. It’s so late your dad’s going to worry.”
“Wait!”
“Hm?”
“…”
Eunju called me back one last time. But then she couldn’t quite get the next words out and hesitated again.
I watched her for a moment. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed dryly, her chick-like lips kept circling the same spot, and a faint tremor ran through the hand holding her phone.
“Something you want to say?”
“Well…”
“If it’s okay, can I go first?”
“Huh? Ah… go ahead.”
“Can I have your number?”
“What?”
I didn’t even know why I’d said it. I just felt like that was what Eunju wanted.
Maybe after having my own words cut off so many times, I’d gotten a little better at reading what the other person was thinking.
“Just because we put out a campaign pamphlet doesn’t mean we’re done, right? When we plan debates and all that later, it’ll be hard without the original proposer’s input. And I can’t exactly wait at the apartment entrance every time I want to meet you, so exchanging numbers seems better.”
“Ah… right. Let’s do that.”
Eunju immediately held out her phone. No more swallowing dryly, no more tormenting those chick-like lips.
“So what were you going to say?”
“That? I don’t think I need it anymore.”
Just as I’d expected. She’d wanted the number but hadn’t had the courage to hold out her phone first.
Well, the past week between us had been one hell of a roller coaster.
Beep-beep-beep…
The moment she typed in her number I called it right away. Time to enter Eunju’s name.
“Eunju? You’re in Class 2, right?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Because I now knew which class Harin was in too. For Eunju’s curiosity, I turned the phone screen toward her.
Cheonji High School, 2nd Year Class 2, Park Eunju
“Ah… you save contacts in a lot of detail, don’t you, sunbae?”
“Makes them easier to find later.”
“…”
You’ll understand once you start working at a company. But she seemed a little miffed at the overly businesslike address book—those chick lips had puffed out just a bit.
“If that’s convenient for you, sunbae, go ahead. But instead…”
“Instead?”
“Tell me your name.”
“…”
That I couldn’t do. Somehow I’d already let her know where I lived, and it had only been an hour since she’d waited at the apartment entrance late at night.
If I gave her my real name on top of that, my identity would be blown in no time. I had no choice but to pull out a variation on a past exam question.
“Chulgu…”
“Chulgu…? What kind of name is Chulgu…”
“That’s why I said I wanted to change it. And surprisingly, there are people with names like that.”
My dad. He might have been the last surviving person in Korea named Chulgu, but talking like the name was completely impossible was still disrespectful to the dead.
“Ah, okay. Then what’s the family name?”
“Ban…”
Half my body was made of Dad’s genes, so it wasn’t a complete lie. And just like that, my new name was decided.
“You’re not going to ask what class I’m in?”
“Ah… I’m not the type who saves names that way. Isn’t that a little rude to the other person in the first place?”
“…”
The way she sniped at me so cleanly, she must have been stewing over it for a while. With the number exchange finished, it was really time to part ways.
“I’ll head in now.”
“Yeah. And I know this is completely unnecessary, but…”
“I won’t tell anyone. And I trust you won’t either, sunbae.”
We confirmed one more time that we had created a secret. Eunju gave a light bow in greeting and headed home.
Soft, light steps.
Even though it was late, her footsteps looked almost buoyant. She’d waited for me in a way that was basically gambling, and she’d walked away with a bigger harvest than she’d hoped for—of course she was satisfied.
But I wasn’t. Only after she disappeared from sight did reality slam into me. At the same time my mouth went bone-dry as I wondered what the hell I’d just done.
For the first time in my life, I’d gotten a girl’s number.
And the girl was my daughter’s classmate.