Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 819(@200wpm)___ 655(@250wpm)___ 546(@300wpm)
“Omma?”
She stirred, one eye peeling open.
“Good morning, Omma.”
When we were little, our parents adopted the “one language for each” method to make sure we grew up fluent in both English and Korean. Up until around ten, our father only spoke to us in English, and our mother only spoke to us in Korean. And if we wanted to speak to her, we’d better respond in Korean.
As a result, I’d spent the first ten years of my life addressing this woman as Omma. Even after she relaxed the rule and allowed us to speak to her in English, calling her Mom, or Hera forbid Mommy, was just weird.
“S... S...” She strained to turn over.
“No, don’t.” I sprung forward, taking her hand. “Please, don’t strain yourself. I didn’t want to stress you out first thing, I just had to let you know I was here—”
“Sarang.”
Direct and clear as a bell, Omma saw through the clothes I dug out of Sue’s wardrobe, and straight to me. Of course, she did. No mother would ever confuse their child with someone else. Not even their biological copy.
“Sarang, dear, is... that you?”
“It’s me.” I moved closer, the hand in hers trembling.
I replayed this moment over and over in my head almost every day for ten years. All the things I would say to her—scream at her. How many apologies I’d extract from her in exchange for my forgiveness. All the crow I’d shove down Sue’s throat as Omma finally saw through to who my sister was. I built the fantasy up so much in my head—
—and now I didn’t care about any of it.
She’s dying in a broken-down manor with no money, no friends, no husband, and no Sue. Omma took my life, and life took her daughter.
I’d say we’ve both suffered enough.
“You look well,” she whispered. Her eyes were barely open. She looked seconds away from drifting back to sleep. “Have you... been eating?”
I cracked a smile. “Yes, I have been eating. Turns out that’s a requirement for living.”
A soft chuckle reached my ears, blowing my eyes wide. My mother did not laugh easily. I’d seen her sit through countless romantic comedies and not summon so much as a twitch of the lips.
Emboldened, I scooted closer, laying my other hand over hers. “I’ve even been making japchae the way you like. I can’t believe I ever said Korean food was yucky. That’s why you can’t trust the culinary opinion of a kid who thinks boogers are a delicacy.”
Omma laughed out loud—or the closest thing to it. A rough, whispery sound coughed up her lungs—weak and soft, but still, a laugh.
“Oh, my silly girl, what do you mean you made japchae? You know you’re not allowed in the kitchen.”
My brows snapped together. “What?”
“It’s not nice to take credit for Mrs. Prado’s work.”
“Mrs. Prado?”
Mrs. Prado was the manor’s head chef when I was a kid, and going by the current state of the kitchen, she hadn’t been around for a long time.
“Promise me you’ll stay out of the kitchen and out of Mrs. Prado’s way.” Omma closed her eyes, giving up the battle with her heavy lids. “Say it, Sarang.”
“I promise,” I blurted—surprised even at myself for how quickly I fell into old patterns with her.
“Sarang?”
I jumped, snapping up as Reynard pushed into the room.
“Did she just call you sarang?”
I seized up—wide eyes darting left to right for somewhere to hide. “I— I— She— She—”
“That means love, doesn’t it? That’s so sweet.”
“Um... sweet?”
“I’ve never heard her call you, or anyone, by a pet name before.” He came in the rest of the way, carrying an empty water bottle and his lunch bag. “Although, to be fair, she could be saying all sorts of things in Korean that would zip right over my head.” He laughed. “That’s why I’ve started taking lessons.”
“Lessons?” I couldn’t seem to stop repeating him like a moronic parrot.
“Yes,” he sighed. “You know how rough it’s been. How confused she’s getting. More and more she’s going whole days where she doesn’t say anything, and if she does, it’s all in Korean. I figured that’s my cue to fire up the language-learning apps.”
Reynard stopped his packing away to smile at me. “But I’m very glad I learned enough to hear you two make up. Last week, she screamed such awful things at you— Things she didn’t mean,” he rushed to say. “But today she calls you love because that’s what you are, and how she truly feels. She loves you, Mrs. Kim. Never forget it.”
“Oh... uh... Thank you,” I finally got out. “That’s really nice of you to say.” I got to my feet. “And it’s nice of you to go above and beyond in caring for my mother. Makes me feel like less of a horrible daughter for hiring someone to do it for me.”