“Please take care of me today too, English God-nim.”
Kkotmoa, who had performed a ritual while looking at my hand, grabbed my right hand with his left hand. Even when we did this in the spacious and open cafe, I couldn’t move a single knuckle, but perhaps because it was an enclosed space, it seemed like I was even sweating. With my gaze fixed on my English workbook that didn’t even enter my vision, all my nerves were stolen by the hand being held.
The hand you always unilaterally grab.
But the hand I want to grab first.
At the same time as the thought reached me, I grabbed Kkotmoa’s hand tightly as if clutching it. The guy who had been concentrating on his English workbook looked up with a surprised face and our eyes met. Because I’d anticipated it, I could pretend to be calm in response to his question.
“Why? Is it uncomfortable?”
“…No. I was sending English God energy.”
Pfft, the guy who burst out laughing concentrated on his workbook again. It had always been a hand that was unilaterally held, but today we were holding hands together. A soft, fluffy feeling was floating throughout the room. Like that, with our hands clasped, we just studied English until 8 o’clock.
With you concentrating on the problems and me concentrating on the hand I was holding.
“Do you like doenjang-jjigae or kimchi-jjigae?”
Kkotmoa asked at exactly 8 o’clock. Our hands were still clasped. Even when we were at the cafe, he’d order sandwiches between 8 and 8:30, so it was now time for dinner. Honestly, it would be a lie if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the dinner Kkotmoa would make. First, I’d freeload for about a week eating whatever he made, and next week I even made plans to go grocery shopping together on the way in. I’d already prepared an excuse too. That Mom said it wasn’t polite to just freeload at someone else’s house like that, so today I should buy ingredients and bring them in. I’d already sold Mom out anyway. Whether once or ten times, there was no difference. I absolutely had to prevent Kkotmoa and our mom from meeting.
“What you’re good at.”
“I’m good at both. Since it’s your first day here today, I’ll specially make you rolled eggs too.”
“Then kimchi-jjigae. But do you really know how to cook?”
“Don’t beg me to make it again after you eat it.”
But what can I do, I’ve already made plans to go around the mart with you and grocery shop.
I followed Kkotmoa out of the room as he smiled brightly and left. I wasn’t one to miss the rare sight of Kkotmoa cooking. I sat with my back against the wall of the living room that was as narrow as a hallway and watched Kkotmoa standing in what was embarrassing to call a kitchen in front of the entrance. Kkotmoa, who I thought would tell me to wait in the room, surprisingly didn’t say anything and took out kimchi from the refrigerator.
The cooking I could do was limited to boiling ramyeon and making fried eggs. Kang Junwoo, who had a live-in chef at home, couldn’t even boil ramyeon. Seeing him pour water into cup ramyeon to eat was impressive enough. Most of the third-generation chaebol kids I met in high society were like that. So I secretly considered myself better than them for being able to boil ramyeon and make fried eggs. But watching Kkotmoa cut kimchi, stir-fry it in a pot, add water and boil it made me ashamed of myself. I suddenly wanted to learn how to cook.
What Kkotmoa said about being really capable was true. Though I’d occasionally seen such aspects, watching him cook really made the word “capable” come out naturally. It might have looked even more so because it was something I couldn’t do. His time allocation was also neat. The way he beat eggs and made rolled eggs while the jjigae boiled looked very skillful. He couldn’t have looked more capable.
“Do you cook often?”
“Every day. I pack Dad’s lunchbox.”
“…You do?”
“Yeah. When the flower shop closes, Dad usually goes to the hospital and comes back at dawn to sleep briefly, then goes to the flower shop early in the morning, so I said I’d do it. Ordering food every day becomes burdensome too.”
“What about dinner?”
“First, I just make sure Jaea eats properly, and Dad and I roughly get by with bread or cup ramyeon and stuff like that. So honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve properly made jjigae at home like this. Even eating at home. Maybe because it’s been a while, I feel good.”
I couldn’t give a proper reaction to Kkotmoa who was smiling as if he really felt good while cutting the rolled eggs. Because I could tell that all of that collapsed and became difficult after their other dad had the accident. The actual person involved, Kkotmoa, didn’t seem bothered at all, but I don’t know why I was getting so choked up and hurting like this. I wasn’t even that sentimental of a guy.
The quickly prepared table was modest. On the table where we’d studied, kimchi-jjigae, rolled eggs, and two bowls of rice came up. Saying he needed to air out the cooking smell, Kkotmoa opened the window wide. The warm spring night breeze approached softly.
“I’ll eat well.”
“Yeah. There’s more rice, so eat more if you want.”
This was my first time with kimchi-jjigae and rolled eggs like these. This statement could be interpreted in two ways.
First, I’d never seen kimchi-jjigae with nothing in it but kimchi and rolled eggs made with only eggs. The kimchi-jjigae Mom made always had something besides kimchi as the main ingredient, whether meat, tuna, mackerel, etc. But Kkotmoa’s kimchi-jjigae really only had kimchi. The rolled eggs were the same. The rolled eggs Mom made had ham and various vegetables in them, making them colorful, but Kkotmoa’s rolled eggs were truly simply just yellow.
Second was that I’d never in my life eaten kimchi-jjigae and rolled eggs this delicious. Even though Mom was such a good cook, I found Kkotmoa’s kimchi-jjigae and rolled eggs with nothing added to them truly delicious. I, who refrained from overeating because being too full was unpleasant, ate two bowls of rice. The rolled eggs plate had long been emptied, and I was ready to eat even the pot of kimchi-jjigae. My sense of taste was absolutely subjective. Even if what you made was mud rice, there was no way it could taste bad to me.
I got excited about being able to eat the dinner you make every day from now on. Yet like a fool, I still couldn’t define what my feelings were.
* * *
Yesterday, we took the June mock exam, the National United Academic Assessment administered by the Korea Institute for Curriculum and Evaluation. As soon as the exam ended, there were kids crying, kids tearing up their test papers, kids busy with preliminary scoring—reactions were all different. According to preliminary scoring, I got perfect scores in Language, Foreign Language, and Mathematics, and got one or two questions wrong in the remaining subjects. Since the scores were similar every time, there was nothing particularly new about it.
“Hi, Hyeondo-ya.”
“Oh, you’re here?”
“I’ll go deliver this and come back.”
Kkotmoa unpacked his bag in the classroom and went out the back door holding the bouquet he’d been carrying. While male students came to our classroom to pick up flowers, when female students ordered, they asked for them to be brought to their classroom. Apparently, the student who ordered this time was a girl.
Kkotmoa, who had been grade 6 or 7 in each subject on the previous mock exam, had greatly improved his grades. Roughly inferring from the preliminary scoring, all subjects seemed likely to come out grade 3. If he studied hard in the remaining months, it seemed he could go to a four-year university in Seoul with a scholarship as he wanted. If that became impossible, I was thinking of secretly using the pretext of sons of partner companies to bundle several kids together and recommend them as D Group sponsored scholarship students.
After the mock exam ended yesterday, I spent boring time with Kang Junwoo. Kkotmoa said he was going to the hospital to see his dad. Though I was disappointed and upset that I couldn’t eat the dinner he made, all I could say was that I understood.
Actually, I was going to go grocery shopping with you yesterday.
Our dinner table was always modest. Kimchi-jjigae with only kimchi and rolled eggs were a set, and doenjang-jjigae with only tofu and stir-fried kimchi were a set. I didn’t get tired of that humble dinner that we ate alternating day by day. Every time I ate it, it was new and delicious.
But what I was concerned about was Kkotmoa’s health. He was already a thin guy, and eating poorly like this every day, I couldn’t help but worry. So on Saturday, I’d already asked Mom to make some side dishes, saying I was going to visit Deonggeori. I asked her to pack dried side dishes and various types of kimchi that could be kept for a long time. I asked her to pack as much as possible. Mom, who had heard that Kkotmoa’s dad was at the hospital, nodded readily, saying that when kids are alone together, they should eat well. And tomorrow was Saturday.
“Hey, fuck, jackpot!”
“What’s wrong?”
It had been a while since Kang Junwoo came running into the classroom this excited, spitting saliva. Every time he did that, he brought gossip worthy of spreading throughout the entire school, but it was never of interest to me. However, this time was different.
“Kkotmoa just went to deliver flowers, right? To Ha Yunjin in Class 14?”
“…I don’t know who he went to, but he did go out with flowers.”
“That was Ha Yunjin! Ha Yunjin had Kkotmoa deliver flowers, but as soon as she received them, she gave those flowers back to Kkotmoa and confessed. In front of everyone. Wow, fuck, I had my eye on Ha Yunjin. I never thought I’d lose her to Kkotmoa of all people.”
My heart dropped. My heart dropped violently as if it would fall right off my toes. The view before my eyes turned pitch black. The bullshit barking beside me just sounded like buzzing. The world stopped, my vision closed, and sound was blocked. My lungs tightened so much I couldn’t even breathe, and I felt dizzy.
A truth I’d never doubted—the fact that you might not actually be my flower alone.
A truth learned stupidly through trial and error—that flowers belonged to whoever plucked them first.
A providence that couldn’t be denied by any logic—that just as sunflowers raise their heads toward the sun alone, the choice belonged to the flower.
Only then could I acknowledge it uprightly. That I liked Kkotmoa…, so that I…
…That I liked you.
