Milk Porridge
"Well, there were a lot of things that happened."
"...I won't ask about it just yet."
Eunbyul slowly rose to her feet. He stood up as well, wearing a look that seemed to ask, Why? It was only natural. It seemed as though she was overflowing with curiosity about him. It was painfully obvious.
"It’s not that I’m curious, it’s just... I don't want to bring up things that hurt you, Executive Director."
"..."
"So, please tell me later, when you're feeling better."
"So, you were the type of person who curses."
Looking at her with an even deeper sense of disappointment, he stared coldly at her as she knelt on the floor.
"...No, that’s not what I meant..."
"Someone told me this."
As he spoke, he began to summarize the story he had heard from Eunbyul. He spoke of how some people would cheer for others, saying there must be a reason even if they were rolling in the dirt, while others would pick apart a person walking perfectly fine, finding elements to criticize regardless of their appearance or anything else.
"If you’re going to tell me that you ended up like this because you had no choice but to clash with people like that, then shut your mouth."
"..."
"If we assume that’s true, then there isn't a single person in this world who would support me. Because everyone... everyone would have cursed at me, right?"
He looked at her with an expression of pure annoyance before turning and heading into the master bedroom. The door slammed shut. As she soaked her knees with tears once again, she realized she had told the story all wrong. She had forgotten that even honesty has its limits, and that there is a point where one shouldn't cross the line. When she had first mentioned losing the money, she had been terrified that he would tell her to leave the house immediately. But when he had said, 'Do as I say tomorrow. Like this,' she had honestly felt good. She was happy. She was blissful. She felt relieved and reassured. At least it seemed he wouldn't kick her out. So, she had nodded repeatedly, listening to his words with rapt attention.
But then, she realized she had crossed the line too far.
"I'm sorry, I... I'm not that kind of person, *hic*, I really... now I,"
If only she had confessed her mistakes once a day, or no, once every three days. Or perhaps once a week—would that have been better? In truth, it was. After he had worked all night, taken a nap, and was eating in a daze, to hear that the money he had earned through back-breaking labor, the money he had lived on while receiving meager allowances, the money he had paid back while hitting the absolute bottom of life—that his ex-wife had blown it all on stocks? That alone would have felt like being struck in the back of the head dozens of times. On top of that, perhaps because she harbored the thought that he would 'let it slide,' she had tried to make excuses by bringing up the past. Would he have kept his patience? There was no way.
"..."
She sat there for a while with her pupils unfocused, then slowly stood up to clear the dining table. Seeing that he had only eaten about half his meal, it seemed that just as he was enjoying his food, her lack of tact and her impatience had poured a bucket of ice water over the moment, leaving him unable to eat properly. Biting her lip, she wiped away the falling tears with her arm while doing the dishes. Soon, she glanced toward the gas stove, fell into deep thought, and began to do something.
He had entered the master bedroom, stressed to the limit, and flopped onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. If she thought he was stressed because she lost the money, that wasn't it. It was just...
"...You're absolute trash, Seo Jia..."
Every time she spoke, it felt like she was proving she was trash, and it was exhausting for him to even listen to her. Digging for information felt like shoveling dirt in a landfill; the more he dug, the dirtier it felt. Whenever he asked a question, she answered honestly, but those honest words were filthy. Severely so. Whenever that happened, his habit was simply to walk. To exercise. Aside from that, his way of relieving stress was to think about good things... but,
"No, why do I keep thinking about her?"
Strangely, he couldn't stop thinking about Eunbyul.
'Because I know well that you are a good person, Senior.'
'I believe you will succeed.'
'A person who knows that arriving home is what matters.'
Trying to erase his thoughts about Eunbyul was, frankly, impossible, wasn't it? It hadn't been long since the divorce, his ex-wife was living in his home like a parasite, and to top it all off, neither of their families knew about the divorce. Of course, even if he knew she had told her parents, he couldn't bring himself to tell his own father and mother. While he was trying to find peace of mind with such thoughts, there were two knocks, and the bedroom door slowly opened.
"...Master,"
"Who told you to come in?"
"..."
She showed him something white on a tray. He looked at it, his stern expression softening slightly.
"...I thought you might like this, and it seemed you couldn't eat your meal because of me..."
"...It's not for you to worry about."
"...Still. I worked hard on it. It’ll be delicious. If you try it..."
He stared at it for a long time, then nodded, picking up a small bowl and spoon, telling her the tray wasn't necessary. She stood demurely, holding the tray and watching him eat. As she did, she thought of the past.
"Are you okay, Nuna?"
"...Mm... Hold my hand..."
"How did you get like this? Just stay there for a second."
That was when she, who was usually so mature, would act like a spoiled child. It was when she was sick. She didn't show that side of herself much after they got married, but she would suffer from a fever once every season change. It was a bad cold. Whenever she was lying alone in her studio apartment covered in blankets, he would open the front door, wash his hands thoroughly, change into comfortable clothes, and nurse her by her side. The reason he learned to cook was purely because of that. Since she was guaranteed to be bedridden four times a year, he had tried all sorts of dishes for her. He mainly mastered dishes specialized for sick people, and the most effective one was—
"...What is this?"
"Milk porridge."
"Did it... go bad?"
"...If you're going to make weird jokes, it must mean you're all better and don't need to eat it."
"No, I really don't know..."
It looked like he had just boiled rice, but it had a strangely savory and sweet smell. After staring at it for a long time, she tasted a spoonful.
"...! What is this...?"
"It's good, right? You have no idea how much work this is."
You wash the glutinous rice well and soak it in water to swell it. You grind it in a blender for quite a long time until it's almost powder, then mix a little rice with a little ground glutinous rice and boil it thoroughly. When it starts to stick, you add a spoonful of honey, pour in the right amount of milk, and simmer it down. If made well, it becomes a nutritious, thick milk-like consistency, just like this. She would use the ones she had prepared in advance when summer turned to autumn, and after eating it, she would recover so quickly that she had taken a whole day's worth of medicine, and from then on, whenever she was sick, she would even mumble 'porridge, milk porridge' in her sleep. Whenever that happened, he would be sleeping next to her, pull her into a tight embrace, and say, "I'll make it for you tomorrow, let's sleep for today."
"...Mm..."
That was one of the memories of her that made him feel she was mature. After that, she said she wanted to try making it too, so they cooked for each other and fed each other. Filled with those memories from the studio apartment, she had turned on the stove and made it because she thought it would be good to feed him now that he was having a hard time.
"...How is it...?"
The difference from back then was that she was now using formal language, while he used casual speech. And unlike back then, her eyes were filled with anxiety and worry rather than affection, while his eyes were a mixture of indifference and coldness.
"It's edible."
"..."
"I assume you're planning to leave once I'm done eating?"
He glanced at her and handed over the empty bowl. She took it.
"...I know you're uncomfortable... but I have something I need to say."
She slowly took the bowl, put it in the sink along with the tray, and cautiously entered the master bedroom again. He was already lying down. She slowly approached his side.
"I'm sorry... I don't know if you'll believe me, but I don't think like that anymore."
He had no reaction.
"I met my friends yesterday..."
"My friends listened to my thoughts, and they told me what I should do. They told me to be honest and tell you everything as it is, and not to... look down on you, ignore you, or think of you as someone lower than me... I realized that was all my fault."
"..."
He just listened in silence. He could have retorted, asking why she hadn't talked to him instead of her friends earlier, but he didn't even have the energy for that.
"I know why you hate me,"
"But I won't be like that anymore, I really mean it... I know you think that if you take me back, I'll just do it again..."
What are you talking about? I have no intention of taking you back.
"I wish you would just trust me once, I will really try my best..."
She wiped away her falling tears. Since the divorce, she, who had once seemed to have neither blood nor tears, had become prone to crying. She had no time to be ashamed of it. More than that misery, she only had the desire to hold onto him. She wished he would treat her warmly like he used to. Of course, she knew that was greedy, but she wasn't the type of person to just sit still. That strange scent of apple kept bothering her, and unlike the times they had fought and made up in the past, he now felt like a person who would never return, so it was only natural that her heart grew desperate.