36. Noah
36
NOAH
The overlapping sounds of thousands of people chattering, announcements over the speakers, the beeping of various machines, and just general noise are why airports are never a fun experience for me.
Eomma takes a stack of passports out of her handbag, checking to make sure she’s got all of ours. She opens and closes each one, and then it’s our turn to check in. I push the suitcases toward the desk as Eomma starts the process, handing our passports over to the woman behind the counter in a light blue suit.
After getting everything in order here, it’s time for us to go to Korea to get Halmeoni. Eomma has been back and forth to Korea more times than I can count in the months since Halabeoji passed away. Eventually, they decided that she should move here for a while instead so we could take care of her. There are still a couple of things she needs to finish up before she can move, though, so we’re all heading over there.
I haven’t been back since February. Even though I left school and could have gone with Eomma, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I distracted myself by helping Appa move back home. I don’t know when they had a conversation about it but when we got back from Korea, he was ready to come back to us. It’s the only positive thing that came out of this.
I thought our family would feel normal again once he moved back, but the absence of Halabeoji hangs over us all. Our family will never be like it was again, and that’s something I still need to come to terms with.
I lift the suitcases on to the belt one by one until they’re all checked in. Eomma’s hand rests gently on my elbow as I do it, her thumb running back and forth. We get our boarding passes and move away from the desk, Appa taking care of them all now. Eomma and Mina go to the bathroom, so we linger around to wait for them before we go through security.
I’m about to say something to him when I hear a familiar sound—a soft laugh that I would recognise in any life. Glancing around, my eyes finally land on blonde hair and a side profile I’ve memorised and recalled every single night. It feels like a spear through my chest to see her here.
I’m frozen as I watch her talk to her brother and his fiancée—two people I never got the pleasure of meeting before everything fell apart. He checks over her carry-on and then takes her small bag from her to pull out her passport before replacing it again.
A family walks past, blocking my view, and I step to the side, my feet moving without me even thinking about it so I can get a clearer view. In that second, I couldn’t see her, the two enveloped her in a hug, and I’ve never felt more jealous in my life.
“Adeul.”
I hear Appa calling me, but I can’t make myself move closer to him again. I can’t take my eyes off the girl I’m still so hopelessly in love with.
She hasn’t noticed me, and why would she? There are hundreds of people just in this small area of the airport. She has no reason to look for me when I’ve given her no indications of any of my plans. All I told her was that I would be back for her—and I will. But not now. Not while everything is still too raw, and I haven’t taken all the steps to get better yet.
I’m working on it though. I’ve started seeing a therapist, and we’re going to continue sessions even while I’m in Korea. We’re working through the guilt I still feel about Halaeboji, but also about everything else that’s happened in the past year, too. It’s been helping more than I thought it would, but there’s still a lot more I need to process before I can face her again.
So I turn away.
In my absence, Eomma and Mina have joined Appa again, so I go to them. I try to pull myself together, to act like everything’s fine and the girl that’s been in my dreams every single night since I left her isn’t just a few feet away.
But then Eomma’s hand is on my arm, and when I glance down at her, her eyes are fixed on the same spot, too.
“That’s her, right?” she says, still looking over at her.
“That’s her,” I confirm, the words heavy in my throat.
“She really is beautiful.”
I nod, not able to say anything as I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth to hold back the emotion that wants to spill out.
“Let’s go,” Appa says, from the other side of me.
He rests a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he guides me to turn in the direction we need to go. Appa doesn’t lift his hand as we walk, and neither does Eomma. They both keep me tethered together as we start making our way to the security line.
“Noah?”
I turn at the unfamiliar voice.
“I thought it was you,” she continues. “I’m?—“
“Violet. She spoke a lot about you,” I say.
I can’t bring myself to say her name.
“Likewise,” Violet says, as she twists her hands together. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss.”
It’s been months and it still hurts every time someone says it.
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say.
I expect her to leave after saying that, but she lingers, her expression warm.
I’m not sure why she’s talking to me. Maybe she wants to tell me to leave her alone, that she’s moved on and is doing better without me. If that’s the case, I don’t want to hear it.
“We need to get going,” I lie. There’s still plenty of time until our flight boards thanks to Appa insisting, we get to the airport early.
“Right, of course,” Violet says, her eyes widening slightly. “I wanted to thank you, too.”
That catches me off guard, and Violet can tell.
“You helped her a lot this year, more than I think you know. I think you both did a lot for each other, and that’s something really special,” she says softly. Her tone is exactly how Izzy spoke to me on the first day we met, kindness laced through it, and it sends a pang through my chest. “I’m glad you’re taking the time for yourself too, that’s a very brave thing to do. I wish you all the best, Noah.”
I take in her words as my eyes start to sting. She offers me a gentle smile.
“I hope we can meet again soon,” Violet says, passing me a small piece of paper. “My number’s on there. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, just text me.”
I take it from her, giving a quick glance at the neat handwriting of her name and number before I tuck it away in my pocket.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
I know Violet’s giving me an opening with this, a way for me to find her again once I’ve figured myself out.
Violet gives me one last smile before she turns away.
* * *
I never used to mind spending twelve hours on a plane because I knew I would be seeing Halabeoji on the other side of it. But when we finally land at Incheon airport, I can’t wait to get off the plane. I pull down everyone’s carry-ons, and we leave, making our way through until we finally get our suitcases and can exit the airport.
We take the express bus to Eomma’s hometown, a two-hour journey made comfortable by the soft recliner chairs. Mina sits next to me, stealing all the snacks I bought at the airport convenience store before we got on the bus.
When we get off, it’s only a short drive to my grandparents’ house.
Halmeoni sits outside on a small stool, her hands stuck in a wide bowl filled with cabbage and marinade. I start unloading the bags from the taxi as Eomma and Mina go over to her. She immediately lifts a small piece out to feed to Mina. With Appa’s help, it only takes us a few minutes to get all the suitcases inside, the others following after us as we get settled.
“Aegi, what do you want to eat?” Halmeoni asks as she washes her hands. Even though Mina is twelve now, she still sees her as a baby and Mina loves it.
“I want seolleongtang,” she replies instantly. The thought of the hearty ox bone soup alongside a steaming bowl of rice has my stomach rumbling.
“You should have told me before you came,” Halmeoni says, stroking Mina’s cheek. “It’ll take too long, but I can make it tomorrow.”
“Why don’t we order chicken tonight?” Appa suggests, and we all agree.
He orders, and we spend the next twenty minutes unpacking our things before it arrives. We all sleep in the same room while we’re here, so I claim my usual spot next to the door. Halabeoji and I would wake up earlier than everyone else. I’d make tea for both of us and we’d go outside to watch the world wake up together, the sun cresting over the fields in front of the house.
We sit down on the floor to eat together, and I feel his absence even more. Everyone’s making light conversation, but it all sounds like white noise in my ears, and the food in my mouth is tasteless as I force it down my throat.
When I spoke to my therapist, I told her that I miss Halabeoji most during these mundane moments. When we’re eating dinner, or watching TV, or just sitting around in each other’s company. I keep expecting to turn and see him, to hear the floorboards creaking under his feet as he walks over to give me pocket money.
I still have the last ten thousand won note he gave me tucked away in my wallet. I’ll never spend it.
* * *
A small beam of light creeps into the room as I pull the door open to leave. I try my best to stay quiet as I make my way to the kitchen to boil some water. I prepare two cups of tea and carry them outside once they’ve finished brewing.
My knees click as I bend down to sit on a small stool, placing both cups on the ground to the side of me. I wrap my arms around my legs, tucking them in closer as I rest my chin on my knees and stare out at the field in front of me. The tall green grass sways in the gentle morning breeze, rippling like waves as it welcomes the sun. I look away when I catch sight of pink flowers.
I turn my head to look at the empty space next to me. His stool is still there, slightly taller than mine, so he wouldn’t struggle so much when getting up or down. I lift up his cup and place it on top before taking my own. The warmth of it feels like it’s melting away at the barrier I’ve put up when I’m around everyone else.
“Halabeoji, what’s our plan for today?”
I know I won’t get a response, but I ask anyway. I nod, pretending to hear his voice as he tells me what errands he needs to get done and which ones I can help him with. I take a sip of tea before I speak again.
“I missed Korea,” I tell him.
My trips here were always the highlight of my year. The excitement of spending time with my grandparents, running wild and free around this small town, while neighbours plied me with treats for being such a good grandson.
“I don’t know when we’ll come back with Halmeoni once we take her to England, but I hope we aren’t gone for too long.”
Guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I finish off my cup. Halabeoji never came to England, never really saw the life we have over there, and now he never will. I place my cup back on the ground before I glance over at his. Steam still wafts from it, so I lean over to blow on it and cool it down.
“There you go,” I tell him, before I turn my gaze back to the orange-tinted sky. “Why couldn’t you wait for me? You knew I was coming. Just one more day and we could have said goodbye.”
Even with therapy, my decision still plays over and over in my head. I don’t know if it’s something I’ll ever get over—the regret of not coming sooner, of choosing to go to France for a stupid football trip instead of coming home, of not realising how bad he was after finding out he was sick.
“You were suffering, and I was kicking a ball around with a bunch of guys I don’t even care about,” I continue. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have left earlier if you told me to. I could have looked after you. I could have been here.”
My cheeks grow damp and I’m not even sure when I started crying. I tuck my head into my knees, avoiding the harsh light of the too-bright sun. A hand rubs across my back, and for a single delusional second, I imagine it’s him.
“Adeul, come back inside,” Appa says.
I look up at him, the crease in his brows deepening as he sees the state I’m in. Appa doesn’t say anything else though. He just lifts his palm to my face and wipes the tears away before he drops a kiss to the top of my head. The simple gesture starts me off again.
“It’s okay,” he soothes, his hand moving from my back to my hair as he strokes it. It’s something he used to do whenever I was upset when I was younger, the repetitive motion relaxing me until I forgot what upset me in the first place.
I don’t think it’ll work this time though. I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, can’t see a point where I’ll ever be able to think about Halabeoji without it throwing my entire world off kilter. I’m too scared to voice the thought.
Instead, I cling to my Appa’s leg like a child, and I cry.