Just for a Few Days

What came out of Jia's mouth was a little shocking.

Common sense said it was impossible, and still I nearly told her it was fine before I knew I was speaking.

"I don't mind, but... did you tell your mom?"

"As if. There's no way she'd allow it."

"Then what exactly are you planning to do? Staying at my place behind her back isn't going to be easy. And a studio... it's a lot less comfortable than you're imagining."

"Can't I just sleep in the same bed as you, like we used to?"

"How would that even work? You're a grown adult now. I'd be glad to have you living with me, I really would, but it's going to be hard. Really ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard."

"I'll just tell Mom I'm crashing at a friend's, whatever. It'll only be a few days anyway. The second I find a room near campus, I'll be out."

"That isn't going to work. I don't mind, but go talk to your mom properly. Ask her whether you can stay at Dad's until you find a place near school."

"So... I can stay?"

"Well... if your mom says yes, I don't mind."

Hearing myself, I realized it had come out sounding like permission, and I hurried to tack something on.

"But if you can help it, give up on living here. This isn't even a real home. It's a studio with barely enough room for me to sleep, and living together in it genuinely will not be easy."

"Oh, come on, this is plenty of space. And I sleep fine on the floor."

"No matter how small the place is, I'm not putting you on the floor, Jia. Obviously you'd take the bed."

"Are you trying to turn me into an unfilial daughter? How am I supposed to steal your bed and sleep in it? You're the one who should be in the bed."

She got that far, and then something seemed to spark. She clapped her hands.

"Or else... oh, right. What if we just sleep in the same bed? Like when I was little."

"Look at the size of that bed. You think that's possible?"

I tried, once, to picture it. Jia and me lying down together on that miserable scrap of a mattress — impossible, unless the two of us slept wrapped in each other's arms. Even ten years ago, when she was nothing but a tiny warm bundle, it would have been a squeeze.

She was only joking, surely. I didn't make much of it.

We talked on like that until the conversation began to thin.

Somewhere in the lull I noticed a hollow ache low in my stomach. I hadn't eaten a single meal since I'd opened my eyes that morning, and the question left me before I'd quite decided to ask it.

"Jia, you hungry? Did you have lunch?"

"No. I haven't eaten lunch yet. Actually, I haven't eaten anything today."

"What time do you think it is, and you still haven't had a bite? What happened to breakfast?"

"The second I opened my eyes I came out to look around near campus. Figured I'd grab a meal while I was here. But once I actually got here, it's break, and walking into a restaurant felt like I'd stick out, and eating alone felt weird, so I came looking for your place first."

"What's there to feel awkward about? You're paying to eat... Anyway, we need to get lunch into you. What do you want, Jia?"

"Hmm... if it's something you like, I don't care."

"You're the one eating. What does it matter what I like? Just name anything. I'll buy it."

"I don't know what's good around here. Take me somewhere you know."

That gave me pause.

The trouble was, I never ate with anyone but myself, so the only decent places I knew nearby were a cold-noodle shop, a gukbap house — rice sunk in hot broth — and a joint that did spicy pork-bone hangover soup. That was the whole of my expertise. Delivery, if I was honest, was mostly fried chicken or Chinese. And I didn't want to take the daughter I hadn't seen in so long to a place like that. At the very least I wanted a pasta place, somewhere Western.

"Everywhere I eat is nothing but gukbap..."

"Then let's just get gukbap. It's your first meal and mine, so something with broth is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠probably fine."

"Or do you want to order in? We could get jokbal — braised pig's trotters — and make a meal of it with rice..."

"That'd be fine too. But still, wouldn't it be better to go out?"

She wanted to get out. I could see it.

Fair enough. Eating delivery in a studio without a proper table would look strange in its own right. Once, we would have spread a meal across a real dining table in a real house. Now we'd have to balance it on a tiny one-person table and hunch over it to eat. Even so, gukbap didn't sit right with me. It had been a long time since I'd seen my daughter, and I ought to feed her something a little dearer than that. If it had been evening I might have taken her for barbecue, but the hour was all wrong.

"How about Western food instead of gukbap, Jia? I think we could find a place that does pasta."

"Wherever is fine, Dad. It's just lunch, and you're the one paying."

"Still, it's been a while. I want to feed you something proper..."

"It's fine, Dad. Let's just eat somewhere close. I don't mind gukbap. It's been ages since I had any."

She said it while getting ready to step outside.

"You want to go now?"

"Yeah. Hearing you talk about it, I'm definitely hungry."

"All right. Let's go."

I threw on a coat and snatched up my wallet. Jia watched me do it, smiled a smile I couldn't read, and opened the front door.

"So I nearly killed myself trying to do well on the CSAT, and in the end I blew it and barely scraped the minimum cutoff. Can you believe that?"

"Scraping the minimum is enough. That's still what comes of studying hard for your school grades."

"Haa... even so, my June mock came out better than I expected, so I thought maybe I could pull off a last-minute comeback through regular admissions."

"Don't dwell on what's already past. In the end, living a life, neither your CSAT score nor which university you go to matters all that much."

"I've heard that from you enough times to know it... but you and Mom both went through so much because of my grades. I should have at least gotten into a good school."

"That wasn't really hardship. Your mom and I only wanted to help you study through high school without regrets. Whether you got into a good university or you didn't, we were never planning to lose sleep over the result."

"Mom says the same thing..."

"That's just her. She isn't the type to fly into a rage over grades."

"Which only makes me feel worse..."

"You did fine. You're at a university in Seoul, aren't you."

After hemming and hawing over one restaurant and then another, we had ended up at a pasta place. It wasn't a menu that usually tempted me, but eating it because I had Jia across from me didn't seem so bad. We ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picked up the idle talk from earlier while we ate, and before long it had drifted, naturally, to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠CSAT — the biggest thing that had happened to her lately.

I honestly hadn't known the score was weighing on her like this. She'd never cared much about grades to begin with, and neither Yuna nor I had ever really talked to her about them. The tutors and the cram schools hadn't been something we'd invested with any grand meaning, either. It was only that Yuna and I had both gone straight to work the moment we finished high school and lived as nothing more than high-school graduates, and I'd worried that a kid raised by parents like us might feel looked down on out in the world if she couldn't even get into college properly. So we'd done it. Looking back, I wondered whether it had even been necessary. The studying was Jia's to do, after all.

Still, watching her sit there fretting over that score, I couldn't call the money a total loss. The exam comes only once. If she was going to have an experience that large, studying for it as hard as she could was an experience worth having.

"Even so... I could have gone somewhere better."

"Enough. You're in, so enjoy it. Your twenties are a lot shorter than you think, Jia. Nothing like high school. Time goes by in a blink. Truly."

"I guess I'll feel that once I start."

She didn't seem to think much of it. And this, I was sure, mattered far more than anything I could have told her about the exam. I had the urge to press it a little harder, but that would only have made me sound like some preachy old man, so I swallowed it. Then again, men in their fifties and sixties still told me that forty was young.

All at once I was back in the days when word got around, one way or another, that I was divorced. A few of the older guys' faces rose up — the ones who had offered life advice as if in passing. I was grateful, truly, and yet I hadn't particularly wanted to hear any of it. Strange, murky talks. When someone bad-mouthed my wife without reservation, I felt easier and angry at the same time. And with the ones who only sat there and comforted me quietly, I didn't want to go any deeper, so all I did was grow uncomfortable.

Well... carrying complicated feelings for the person you've divorced is the most natural thing in the world. I didn't think I was the strange one.

"Your food is ready."

I had drifted, without meaning to, into thoughts heavier than the table called for. Fortunately the pasta we'd been waiting on arrived.

"Oh, this looks good..."

Jia, thankfully, didn't seem to notice where my mind had gone. She started in with a happy face. She might not have looked it, but she liked eating more than you'd think. Watching her, I felt something warm settle in me, and I started eating too.

We were midway through the meal when her phone rang.

A call during a meal was nothing strange, so I hardly marked it. Then the first words out of her mouth, the instant she picked up, pulled every nerve in me tight.

She said it as if it were nothing, then, feeling my eyes on her, began to glance my way.

I dropped my head to the food again, pretending I wasn't thinking about anything, and went on eating. I couldn't focus on the taste at all. What were they saying to each other? A mother calling her daughter was the most ordinary thing in the world. There was nothing strange about it, and yet a peculiar feeling began to rise and fill my head.

Yuna was on the other end of that line, right now.

Buried under the thought, I couldn't form a single ordinary one. I didn't try to go any further. Something told me that if I thought any deeper, it would spend more feeling than I had to spare.