“When I die,” she continued, “don’t mourn me. Forget me and live the life you should have before I came into it.”
“Miyoung-ah.” Jihoon sat beside her, folding his legs beneath him. “If you die, then I’ll always remember you. That doesn’t mean I won’t live a full life. People leave us and our lives will never be the same, but if we forget them, then what does that say about how we value them?”
“When did you get so wise?” Miyoung asked.
“When the hundredth day passed.”
“What?” Miyoung sat up and the sudden movement made her head spin.
“I didn’t want to say anything. I was worried it would jinx it. But yesterday was the hundredth day,” Jihoon said. “And you’re still here.”
“No.” Miyoung shook her head, trying to calculate the time, but it was all a blur of mourning and sleep. “That can’t be. I don’t have my bead. I should be dead.”
“Is it really that horrible?” Jihoon asked, a smile tilting the corners of his lips. “The idea that you’d have to live a human life with me?”
Miyoung let out the breath she didn’t know had been clogging her lungs. And let herself believe. With it came a lightness as if she’d float away without Jihoon to anchor her to the earth. She laughed and flung her arms around him, hugging him to her.
“I’m alive.” Saying the words made her giddy, and she let out another laughing breath. “I’m alive.”
“You’re alive,” Jihoon said, and she heard the answering joy in his voice. They held each other close.
Then she sobered as the weight of the realization came down on her.
“So now I’ll have to live without her,” Miyoung whispered.
Jihoon squeezed her hands. “We’ll both learn to live without them.”
“I don’t know how.” She sighed, and it shuddered through her whole body to shake her. “She was my everything.”
“Maybe it’s wrong for us to hold any one person as our whole world. Maybe . . .” Jihoon trailed off with an odd expression. “Maybe it’s wrong of us to owe all of our happiness or sadness to one person.”
“What is it, Jihoon?” Miyoung asked, frowning.
“Nothing. I just think maybe I owe someone a visit,” Jihoon said. “But that can come later. Right now, I’m going to make you soup.”
“Soup sounds good.” Miyoung smiled.
78
WHEN JIHOON KNOCKED on the sleek metal door, his hand trembled. He closed it until the shaking stopped. He felt back to normal for the most part, but a few residual weaknesses remained. The doctors had assured him it was just the last fading effects of overcoming such an acute illness, though they still had no name for what had afflicted him. He didn’t suppose it would help for him to explain the supernatural parts of it. The hospital could just view him as a medical oddity.
The door opened and his mother’s surprised face appeared.
“Jihoon-ah,” she said, caution in her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I have something to say.” He paused. On the way there, he’d practiced his speech over and over. But now, facing her, he wasn’t sure what words to use. So he blurted them out. “I understand.”
“What?” His mother’s voice shook with unspoken emotion.
For some reason, that made Jihoon feel steadier. “I understand why you left.”
She hesitated, glancing behind her. Then seemed to come to a conflicted decision. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll make you tea.”
It was a step, he thought. But not one he wanted to take right now. He’d gathered enough courage to talk to her, but not to spend time with her. Not yet.
“I’m not staying long. I just need to say something.”
“Okay.” She folded her hands, waiting patiently for him to continue.
“I understand that when you left, you thought you were doing good for me. I used what you did as an excuse to push people away for too long. It was easier for me to blame you for my insecurities, but I can see it now, how you were right about one thing. Being raised by Halmeoni was the best life for me.”
“Oh, Jihoon-ah—”
“I’ve decided to stop blaming you. I don’t want to be angry anymore.”