28. （PROMISE）d
VERENA
28
Walking into the tiny boutique with Auntie, I marveled at the explosion of colors and patterns. Every rack was bursting with summer clothes—flowy dresses, bold prints, and, of course, bikinis. Auntie, ever the troublemaker, zeroed in on the swimwear section with a gleam in her eye.
“Alright, darling, today’s the day,” she declared, grabbing a neon pink bikini off the rack. “I’m going to greet the afterlife looking sexy as hell.”
I snorted, trying to keep up with her. “Auntie, you’re really going to buy a bikini?”
She shot me a wicked grin. “Why not? I want to be buried in one. Figure if I’m going out, I might as well do it looking fabulous.”
I laughed. “You’re something else, you know that?”
She held up a fiery red bikini against her chest, examining herself in the mirror. “You know, I was always too scared to wear one of these. Always thought my body wasn’t good enough, that people would judge. Now it just seems so silly.”
I picked up a sleek black bikini, turning it over in my hands. “I get it. I’ve always felt the same way.”
Auntie’s eyes softened. “Well, darling, it’s high time we both stop caring about what other people think. Life’s too short, especially mine.”
I blinked, trying to mask the sting of her words with a smile. “You’re right. Let’s do this.”
We headed to the dressing rooms, Auntie still cracking jokes. “If I’m going to haunt anyone, I want them to remember me in a hot bikini. None of this frumpy ghost nonsense.”
I laughed, despite the lump in my throat. “You’d be the sassiest ghost around.”
“Damn straight,” she said, wiggling into her bikini and stepping out, striking a pose. “What do you think? Ready to make the afterlife jealous?”
“You look amazing,” I said, and I meant it. She was radiant, even with the shadow of her illness looming over us.
I emerged in my own bikini, feeling more confident than I expected. Auntie’s approval was immediate and enthusiastic. “Verena, you look stunning! See? We’ve still got it!”
We bought our bikinis, and as we walked out, Auntie’s coughing fit returned. She waved me off when I reached out to steady her. “I’m fine, just a little winded. Dying’s a real workout, you know?”
“Auntie, you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, darling. Now let’s get to the car before I drop dead in the parking lot. That would really ruin my plans for a stylish exit.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” I said, chuckling softly. “You’ve got to save the grand finale for a more dramatic location.”
“Exactly,” she said with a wink. “Maybe the opera. Or a masquerade ball.”
As we strolled towards the car, I tried to keep the mood light. “You know, Auntie, you could make a whole line of ghost bikinis. ‘Haunt in style.’”
She laughed, a rich, genuine sound. “And I’d be the cover model, of course. Ghostly Glamour Magazine.”
“I can see it now,” I said, grinning. “You’d be a sensation.”
She started coughing again. “Auntie, maybe I should take you to the hospital.”
“Oh, hush. I’m just trying to add some drama to my performance.”
I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “You don’t need to try. You’re naturally dramatic.”
She leaned on me slightly as we walked, and I held her a little tighter. “Remember, darling, if I collapse, you’d better make it look like a fainting spell from a movie. Elegant and tragic.”
“I promise,” I said, my voice tinged with sadness. “I’ll make sure you go out with all the flair you deserve.”
“You know, Verena, I’m not afraid of dying. I’m just sad about leaving you. And about missing out on all the things I wanted to do.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I know, Auntie. I’m going to miss you so much.”
I forced a smile, but inside, my heart was heavy. With all the fake engagement and the constant hustle of maintaining appearances, it was easy to avoid the why of it all. Auntie was dying. Really dying. And now that we’d walked the mall, the symptoms were impossible to ignore.
She didn’t seem sick most of the time—she was full of life and energy, always the first to laugh, always ready with a kind word or a warm hug. But there were little hints, barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. Like how she went to bed earlier than she used to, her once boundless energy fading a little more each day. How she seemed more tired after simple tasks, her steps a bit slower, her breaths a bit more labored.
“Are you okay, Auntie?” I asked, my voice tinged with worry as she coughed, the sound harsh and rattling. “I mean, really okay? You sound like you’re struggling to breathe.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, her words coming in short gasps. “Just a little out of breath. Don’t worry about me.”
But how could I not worry? Every cough, every labored inhale, was a reminder that our time with her was running out. It wasn’t fair. Auntie, with her endless positivity and strength, didn’t deserve this.
Cancer didn’t care about fairness. It didn’t care about how much life you still had left to live, or how many moments you still wanted to share. It’s a thief in the night, stealing away the vibrant essence of someone you love, leaving you to grapple with the hollow truth of their mortality. The reality of losing Auntie was like a shadow that darkened every corner of our lives, and no amount of pretending could make it right. This was as bad as it seemed, and it wasn’t something that could be fixed or made better. Some things can only be carried.
I wanted to pretend. I pretended when I focused on the humor of my fake engagement, laughing off the absurdity of our situation to distract myself. I pretended when I selfishly thought about my own pain, my own grievances, letting them eclipse the much larger suffering unfolding before me. I pretended when I didn’t notice the way Jae was clinging to me because pretty soon he would have no one to cling to.
I pretended because acknowledging the truth meant accepting the inevitable loss, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not now, not ever.
But the signs were there, clear and undeniable.
I helped Auntie into the town car Jae had set up for us, her steps slow and careful. She settled into the seat with a sigh, her weariness evident despite her attempts to hide it.
“You didn’t buy a lot,” she remarked, trying to shift the focus away from her condition.
“I had more fun watching you shop,” I replied, forcing a lightness into my voice that I didn’t feel.
Auntie shook her head, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes despite her fatigue. “You need photos for the magazine shoot. Didn’t Jae’s assistant tell you? They want to feature your engagement. There will be an interview.”
I blinked in surprise, feeling a surge of frustration. “An interview? Mina didn’t mention anything about that.” Of course she didn’t. I was really starting to not like her.
“Are you okay, Verena?” Auntie asked, her gaze soft and concerned.
“I’m just…worried about you,” I admitted, my voice breaking slightly.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Auntie said gently, her eyes shining with a combination of determination and something else—something that made my heart ache even more. “I want to focus on the wedding. We should plan for something next month.”
I sputtered, barely able to contain my shock. “Next month?!”
“Of course,” she replied, her tone resolute. “I want to see the wedding.”
Guilt and sadness washed over me, threatening to drown me in their relentless tide. Here she was, planning for her death by focusing on the joy of a marriage she didn’t even realize was fake. The very thought made my chest tighten, a knot of grief forming in my throat. How could I let her down? How could I shatter her hopes when she was clinging to them so desperately?
Auntie was pouring every bit of her dwindling energy into the idea of seeing Jae and me happily married. She was planning for a future she knew she wouldn’t be a part of, and the weight of that realization crushed me. She wanted to see the wedding. She needed to see it, as if it were a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of her illness.
“Don’t you think that’s a little soon?” I asked, my mind racing.
“You’re nervous? Is it your mom?” Auntie’s eyes softened with understanding. “Don’t worry, I invited Jennifer over for dinner tonight. We’re going to smooth this all over.”
“You did?” Panic surged through me. I still had about a bazillion missed calls and texts from my mom. “Does Jae know about dinner?”
“I told his assistant. It’ll be great,” Auntie assured me.
As the car started moving, I glanced out the window, my thoughts a chaotic whirl. We were racing against time, against the inevitable.
Auntie took a deep breath, her voice softening. “Let’s cook together, Verena. I want to teach you how to make Jae’s favorite meal.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away quickly. “I think it would mean a lot to him. It’s a traditional Korean dish—kimchi jjigae.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Of course, Auntie. I’d love to learn.”
When we got back to the penthouse, Auntie led me to the kitchen. She moved with a purpose, opening the refrigerator and cabinets and pulling out ingredients: napa cabbage, pork belly, tofu, garlic, green onions, and bottles of red chili paste and flakes, called gochujang and gochugaru. She set them all on the counter, her movements sure and steady despite the fatigue I knew she was feeling.
“First, you need to make the kimchi,” Auntie said, her voice filled with warmth and nostalgia. “This is the heart of the dish. Our mother taught me how to make it, and I taught Jae’s father after she passed.”
We worked side by side, slicing the cabbage and mixing it with the gochujang and gochugaru. Auntie explained each step, her hands moving deftly as she spoke. “You need to massage the spices into the cabbage, make sure it’s evenly coated. This is where the flavor comes from.”
I followed her instructions, my fingers tingling from the spicy concoction. As we worked, Auntie told me stories about Jae’s father, her eyes shining with fond memories. “We used to make this in our parents’ kitchen. Jae’s father would sneak pieces of kimchi before it was ready. He had no patience.”
She laughed softly, a sound that was both joyful and tinged with sadness. “We would sit together, eating kimchi jjigae and talking about our dreams. Those were the best times.”
I listened, absorbing the stories and the love that infused her words. Auntie wiped a tear from her cheek, her smile trembling. “I always wanted to make this for Jae’s children one day. I imagined us all sitting around the table at my parents’ old home in Korea, sharing this meal and creating new memories.”
My heart ached at the thought, her unfulfilled dreams pressing down on me. I reached out, squeezing her hand gently. “We’ll make sure this recipe is passed down, Auntie. I promise.”
She smiled through her tears, nodding. “Thank you, Verena.”
We continued cooking, adding the pork belly to the pot and letting it brown before adding the kimchi and water. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, a comforting scent that wrapped around us like a warm embrace. Auntie showed me how to prepare the tofu and green onions, her hands steady despite the tremor in her voice.
“Jae loves this dish,” she said softly. “It always reminds him of his parents.”
This wasn’t just about cooking a meal; it was about preserving memories, honoring the past, and creating a sense of continuity in a world that felt increasingly uncertain.
As the kimchi jjigae simmered on the stove, we took breaks to let the flavors meld. Auntie and I moved to the living room, where she showed me old family photos and shared more stories about Jae’s childhood. It was a rare glimpse into a side of him I rarely saw, and my heart ached for the boy who had lost so much.
Hours passed, and we returned to the kitchen to check on the jjigae, adding tofu and green onions, letting it cook a little longer. The anticipation built with each passing minute, the aromas growing richer and more inviting. I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for this moment, for the opportunity to share in this tradition.
“Thank you for teaching me, Auntie,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “This means more than you know.”
She smiled, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and joy. “It’s my pleasure, Verena. I’m so glad we could share this.”