Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Even Farther Away (4)
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Grandma brings over some dried snacks, jerky, and soju.
I took a bite earlier, and for jerky, it was surprisingly tender.
Tender enough for Grandma to eat.
Plus, the soju has a red cap.
"Nothing like sharing a drink with my grandchild."
"Oh, come on, you should watch your health."
"Pfft, what’s the point of living longer? I’d rather cram in all the fun I can on the days I’ve got left and go out with a bang. Don’t try to stop me."
Once she gets stubborn like this, there’s no arguing with her.
Even if I manage to get her to stop today, she probably shares a drink or two of makgeolli with her friends on the regular.
If drinking’s part of her daily routine, skipping it for one day won’t make much difference.
"Just promise me we’ll only finish this one bottle between us."
"Then what’s there to drink myself to death over? One bottle between two is just fine."
From the sound of it, she enjoys her liquor but doesn’t drink to excess. That’s a relief.
I fill our soju glasses.
I take a sip. About half remains in the bottom.
Grandma, on the other hand, downs hers in one go.
Impressive at her age.
"Joo-hyun, I didn’t raise you like that."
"Hm?"
"Soju’s meant to be shot."
"..."
I pour the rest of what’s left after my sip down my throat. Is this a Gangneung grandma thing, or just her personality? First time sharing a drink with her, so I’m not sure.
I’m not big on soju to begin with.
Even when I drink alone at home every once in a blue moon, I grab a four-pack of cheap ten-thousand-won beer from the convenience store.
Drink two cans, save the other two for later—feels good. Lately, though, taking care of Yoon-seul has killed any urge to drink.
Grandma gently rubs around the belly button of Yoon-seul, who’s sleeping beside me, and starts talking.
"You, Yoon-seul... both seem healthy and doing well."
"We’re only five and twenty-five. Gotta be healthy at our age."
"Hmm... yeah, the good times."
"You stay healthy a long time too, Grandma. Please."
"Sure, better than wheezing away at the end. I’d rather go healthy and feel a bit sick just one or two days before."
Maybe it’s the soju on her lips, or being back in her hometown, but her words are blunt.
"You seem to be raising Yoon-seul well."
"She’s such a bright, sweet kid anyway."
Though she gets wild sometimes.
Like when she rapid-fires finger guns.
Or roughly reverse-parks Boong-boong No.3.
Or that one time she ambushed me with a kiss.
"Yeah, but it’s not that. Yoon-seul’s face looks so much brighter now than when she lived with me."
"Really?"
"When she was with this old lady, she didn’t smile so brightly or run around full of energy. Looks like you’ve really brought out her spirit, Joo-hyun."
"I’m trying. And living with her makes me happy too. Alone, I get lonely, but with my little sister around, life feels full of energy."
"Good to hear."
Grandma empties her glass cleanly once more.
Then continues.
"Truth be told, I felt bad sending Yoon-seul to you like that."
"What’s there to feel bad about?"
"To me, you’re still a kid yourself. Felt wrong handing one kid off to another."
"Yeah. But we kids seem to get along great—we’re happy. No need to worry."
"Yeah. Thank you. Really, thank you, Grandma’s sorry."
"Don’t say sorry."
I down my glass too.
Bitterer than the first one.
Grandma says sorry out of the blue like that.
Ever since she took me from my birth mom and raised me—not often, but every now and then.
She apologizes like that.
Grandma’s my birth mom’s mom.
Mom’s mom.
That sorry carries complicated feelings.
I know even without her spelling it out.
My birth mom abused me as a kid—that’s unchanging fact. So I’m even more grateful to Grandma.
She said sorry like that while raising me until I got a part-time job and started earning.
She’s my benefactor.
"Grandma, want me to make another dish?"
"What? More? We’ve got snacks here."
"Dried snacks aren’t great for your teeth."
"Try this jerky. See how soft it is."
"Hang on just a sec. I know you love soft tofu stew, Grandma. Let me whip some up."
"Oh, you... Fine! It’s a special day. Let’s stuff myself with food from my grandchild."
As I head to the kitchen, I check my smartphone again.
[Trigger Food: Soft Tofu Stew]
Grandma’s trigger food.
Eating this should bring back memories of the diner she used to run. It was on the menu back then.
I don’t know exactly which memory from that time is deeply etched in her mind.
But facing those old memories might lighten the guilt in her heart, even just a little.
Maybe warm recollections will overflow like a miracle, healing her heart—like other trigger foods have.
With that hope, I light the gas stove.
Simple recipe.
Sauté green onions and garlic in oil, toss in a heap of gochugaru.
Pour in water, and red chili oil rises.
Add the soft tofu, season it, finish with an egg and a drizzle of sesame oil—looks appetizing.
"Slurp."
I taste a spoonful.
Not particularly unique.
That’s what makes it good.
The kind of taste anyone would nod at after one bite and reach for rice.
Homey.
"Smells great. Has my grandchild rUnnieng a restaurant honed your cooking to mastery?"
"Not quite. But the soft tofu stew should be decent."
"Yeah? Then I’ve gotta try it."
I set it before Grandma, and she smiles warmly. Picks up a spoon right away.
Takes a bite.
Slurp—
Grandma, who’d been smiling.
The smile fades, and she slowly sets the spoon down.
Her pupils shake.
Memories revive, bubbling up like the stew.
**
She had only one family member left.
Her daughter, Lee Joo-hee.
Her husband had died early.
Killed in a train accident, poor thing.
Mother and daughter left in the world—it was destined they’d face hardship.
Song Joo-hyun’s Grandma, An Soon-yeon, had to work.
Not out of some burning zest for life.
She just wanted to raise her daughter somehow.
Even without a husband, there was someone to protect—so she had to work.
All she knew was cooking, and among that, her proudest dish: soft tofu stew.
"Soft tofu stew’s delicious."
Simple, crowd-pleasing taste.
Bubble bubble—
Bubble bubble—
It simmers, the soft tofu stew.
The dish she confidently sold after opening her diner.
Customers loved it, and her daughter too.
She’d tasted it till she was sick of it. Yet she still loved it. Odd taste, even to herself.
"I think it’s so cool how you cook, Mom!"
"Heh, enough of that."
"For real? I love your soft tofu stew the best."
"Yeah? Then I’ll make some for breakfast tomorrow before I go. For my girl."
"Yay! You’re the best, Mom!"
Moon high in the sky, night deepens.
After a grueling day of business, she’d come home to her daughter greeting her. Heard cheesy lines like that so often she’d lost count.
Spoiled, sensitive kid.
Always guarding the house in place of her late-returning mom.
Yet never once complained.
"Why’re you so late, Mom?"
"Why don’t you stay with me?"
Not a peep of that.
Even though their chats were just an hour before bed after she got home.
Day after endless day of the same.
‘Such an understanding kid.’
That was her conclusion.
An Soon-yeon didn’t pry deep into her daughter’s thoughts.
The girl seemed healthy and bright—that was enough; she didn’t know what lay deeper.
First heartbreaking words from her daughter.
No, the sentence she first confronted was before the girl debuted as a poet.
She read her daughter’s scribbles in a notebook.
Soft tofu stew.
That was the poem’s title.
Soft tofu stew goes in my mouth.
Familiar.
Mom goes in my mouth.
Lips bump strangely.
Early draft?
Or meant for a poetry collection?
Unclear.
But reading that four-line poem, tears welled in An Soon-yeon’s eyes.
"...How can ‘Mom’ feel so unfamiliar?"
Soft tofu stew’s familiar, yet ‘Mom’ feels strange on the lips—that stabbed like a dagger.
But unavoidable.
When she left for work, emptying the house, soft tofu stew—her daughter’s favorite—took her place.
Not An Soon-yeon herself.
Husband’s death too.
Her simmering soft tofu stew too.
Daughter finding ‘Mom’ unfamiliar too.
"All unavoidable."
She started enjoying liquor around when she accepted those five words: unavoidable.
And as always, events strike suddenly.
Daughter has a son, does awful things, and she somehow takes him to raise instead.
Karma, she thought.
"Because I couldn’t be a mom to that child."
Didn’t teach her what being a mom means.
Never showed her that rarely.
Awful deed.
Unforgivable by anyone, she knew.
But An Soon-yeon lacked courage to blame her daughter.
"Am I any different?"
That’s why she raised her grandson, Song Joo-hyun.
Karma.
Grandson doesn’t know—or maybe does—her feelings.
Just sorry.
Then the news came like a passing cloud.
That day, she was simmering soft tofu stew to feed her granddaughter. Did awful things to her son too—no guarantee she wouldn’t to her daughter.
So she took the granddaughter to protect her.
To keep Joo-hee from turning worse.
Bubble bubble—
Bubble bubble—
It simmers, the soft tofu stew.
"Grandma, can I have some?"
"Course it’s tasty. Grandma’s specialty. Your mom loves it too."
"Mm... Yunseul-i should try it sometime."
"But it’s hot, so Grandma’ll blow on it for you."
"Yunseul-i can do it herself."
Soft tofu stew to feed the granddaughter.
About to overflow as she stands before it—phone rings.
Unknown number.
Are you Lee Joo-hee’s mother?
Sad news, but she’s passed.
Car accident.
Need you to come right away.
Stranger spoke in a stranger’s tone.
Calmly chilling, facts she didn’t want to know.
Bubble bubble—
Bubble...
Splatter!
It overflows, the soft tofu stew.
An Soon-yeon crumbled from ribs down, like her skeleton vanished whole.
Called out to her daughter, farther than the grandson.
"Joo-hee, Lee Joo-hee..."
The call never reached, nor ever will.
Daughter gone from the world, one month later.
Decided to pass Yoon-seul to her older grandchild, Joo-hyun.
Young, but self-sufficient kid, and above all, she lacked confidence.
Yoon-seul resembled Joo-hee too much.
Having her near often recalled the dead daughter—couldn’t bear it.
Sorry to the older grandchild.
That’s the end of this tale.
Memories stirred by soft tofu stew, of one old woman.
Yet this world of memory is compassionate.
"Joo-hee, Lee Joo-hee..."
As if answering the endless call, a new memory plays.
"...Mom? What’re you doing."
A familiar voice tickles An Soon-yeon’s nape.
No, now a bit unfamiliar.