Mom's Friend

It was pickup hour, and the kindergarten was bustling. Yeon-jae tried to slip past the people coming out and head inside, but she hadn't taken more than a few steps when a voice called her name and stopped her in her tracks.

"Ji-woo's mom!"

She turned to find Seo-ha's mother, Hye-gyeong, standing there. The woman came up and looped a friendly arm through Yeon-jae's.

"Got a minute? I was going to call, but I figured it'd be better to talk in person."

"Of course. What's going on?"

"Whew, so listen. I heard from the teacher. You didn't know about the kids' practice last time?"

Hye-gyeong went on in a voice meant only for Yeon-jae's ears.

"I had no idea either. When I picked the kids up to take them to the Arts Center, I asked Ji-woo about it."

"......"

"I said we should give his mom a call, but Ji-woo told me you were at work."

Hye-gyeong's face was full of awkward discomfort as she recounted what had happened that day.

It had been Ji-woo who stopped Hye-gyeong from pulling out her phone. The child who beamed at her, insisting it was fine to just go, tugging her along. She said she'd remembered being told the teacher had given permission, so she'd gone straight to the lesson.

"I knew you were a working mom, so I didn't call and just went. But you didn't even know? You must've been so shocked when you found out. I should've at least asked. I'm sorry."

Looking at the woman overflowing with apology, Yeon-jae clenched both fists tight.

The image of Je-heon walking away after those words rose in her mind. Yeon-jae had truly believed he'd put Ji-woo up to it — renting the rehearsal hall, assigning a symphony teacher, scaling a kindergarten recital up into a city-wide ensemble concert in Daejeon. She'd thought he was manufacturing the situation, trying to entangle Ji-woo with the Foundation.

And yet it was true. Ji-woo had lied.

The delayed reality of it made Yeon-jae bite down on her lip. She lifted a hand to her chest, and her heart began to pick up speed, pounding. Maybe she had known all along. That day, walking out with Ji-woo's hand in hers, the trembling had refused to stop. She'd tightened her grip without meaning to, terrified the shaking would pass to the child.

He wouldn't have done that to me on purpose. But in the end, that was only what she'd wanted to believe.

A hollow feeling washed over her.

"You were really upset, weren't you? I'm sorry."

Hye-gyeong's worried voice pulled Yeon-jae back to the present. She shook her head.

"No. This isn't your fault at all."

It was simply that her child had grown old enough to start keeping secrets from her. Before she knew it, her mouth had gone dry and rough.

"And it must have been a hassle... Thank you so much for picking the children up. Please don't give that incident another thought."

"If you're saying that, then I'm the one who should be grateful."

Even as she waved Hye-gyeong off, insisting it was fine, Yeon-jae's mind was a tangle.

"Don't you worry about pickup! I'll take good care of them, okay?"

Watching Hye-gyeong speak so warmly, Yeon-jae forced the corners of her mouth up into an awkward smile.

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Got it. The kids should be coming out now. See you tomorrow, Ji-woo's mom!"

With a final thank-you, Hye-gyeong wrapped up the conversation and headed into the kindergarten. Yeon-jae had tried to act as if nothing was wrong in front of her, but as the feelings swelled, the corners of her mouth dropped. A crushing sense of self-reproach washed over her.

She didn't want to admit it, but this time, the mistake had been hers.

"Let's take ten minutes."

The piano's melody cut off as Teacher Tami clapped her hands. At the announcement of break time, Seo-ha bounced across the floor and ran toward Hye-gyeong.

"Would you like some coffee, Teacher? We were going to grab some from the café."

"That sounds nice. I'll come with you."

"Mom, I want hot chocolate!"

"Okay."

Hye-gyeong gently stroked Seo-ha's hair. She took the child's hand and was about to leave with the teacher when she turned back toward Ji-woo.

"Ji-woo, you're coming too, right?"

"I'm okay!"

"Come on, let's go together."

"Mmm. Ji-woo wants to stay here and practice."

Still seated on the piano bench, Ji-woo smiled at Hye-gyeong.

"I like the piano better than the café!"

"But I can't leave Ji-woo here all alone..."

Hye-gyeong looked thoroughly troubled, glancing back and forth between Ji-woo and the doorway.

"I'll stay, so please go ahead."

Teacher Tami grinned and gave Seo-ha and Hye-gyeong a gentle push. Promising to order something for the teacher as well, the two of them disappeared from the hall.

Watching the teacher settle into a seat in the middle of the hall, Ji-woo turned back toward the piano. The child lifted both hands. From the air, they descended onto the keys.

Even though he'd been pressing those keys without rest just moments before, the tips of all ten fingers still itched to play. This was nothing like the battered old piano at home. That one barely produced a sound unless you struck it hard; this one yielded, soft beneath his fingers. And more than that — with every brush of the keys, the notes that bloomed were beautiful. Just like the pianists he'd watched on television.

Could I become like that too?

Like the older boys and girls. If he could play that beautifully, wouldn't Mom smile for him? The thought of Yeon-jae beaming at the end of a performance made the child's face flush. Happy just from imagining it, Ji-woo began to press the keys.

Clear, bright notes resonated as if a handful of glass marbles were rolling across a surface. A smile crept onto his lips. As the tempo quickened, a strange, ticklish feeling rose in his chest, and he played on, so drunk on the music that he didn't even notice someone approaching.

"Little genius."

At the voice from behind him, Ji-woo's hands froze. The piano cut off, and the footsteps that had been approaching went still. Slowly, the child turned around. The moment he saw the man, his eyes went round.

Standing there, as if he'd appeared from nowhere, was Je-heon. Just a moment ago, the teacher had been sitting in the middle of the hall. Now she was nowhere to be seen — only Je-heon.

Ahjussi?

The word never made it out; Ji-woo's pressed-together lips merely trembled. Je-heon walked right up to the stage and climbed the steps of the platform. Before Ji-woo knew it, the man was standing close, and then he stopped.

"You've gotten better at the piano already?"

The shortened distance made his voice come through all the more clearly. Under that steady gaze, Ji-woo quickly dropped his eyes.

When he'd first spotted Je-heon, he'd been glad — it had been days since he'd last seen him. A full week, in fact, since he'd watched Je-heon walk out of the lobby that day.

"Mom, is that handsome ahjussi not coming anymore?"

"Chairman Gu? He hasn't been around lately. Must be busy."

Whenever Je-heon's name came up from Seo-ha or Hye-gyeong, Ji-woo would flinch. Because it was true — he hadn't appeared since that day. He'd worried that Yeon-jae and Je-heon had fought because of him, and that was why he wasn't coming. What if Ahjussi never comes back? I want to follow Ahjussi and learn the piano.

Contrary to all those worries, Je-heon had appeared, and Ji-woo was glad. But the gladness was quickly pushed aside by awkwardness, because overlaid on Je-heon's face was the image of him arguing with Yeon-jae. And with that, Ji-woo naturally recalled what he himself had done.

Lying was bad. He'd known that, and he'd still lied to Mom. The guilt that had been fading over the past week seemed to come alive again, and his chest felt tight. Keeping his eyes down, Ji-woo just kept pressing the keys.

"Aren't you going to say hello to Ahjussi?"

An outstretched hand came to rest on the grand piano. Ji-woo's gaze shifted, staring at the large hand. Unlike his own, it was thick-lined and broad.

"You look someone in the eye when you talk to them, little genius."

"I'm not a little genius. I'm Jeong Ji-woo."

Ji-woo's head snapped up, and their eyes locked. Unlike looking at him from a distance, the gaze looking straight down at him was so direct it was almost overwhelming. Then the corners of Je-heon's mouth curved up, just slightly.

"Alright. Jeong Ji-woo."

The child took him in piece by piece: the man standing at an angle with one hand on the piano. Veins standing out along his forearms where the dress-shirt sleeves had been rolled up. A large, solid frame. Even to a five-year-old, the man in the perfectly tailored suit looked as striking as a model. Maybe that was why his own name, coming from Je-heon's mouth, sounded especially cool today.

"Did you make up with Mom?"

Huh? He wasn't sure if they'd made up or not, but the child nodded anyway. The truth was, Yeon-jae had said they'd talk about it another day — and then never brought it up again. Could you even call that making up?

"Men don't lie. It's not cool."

"......"

"If you've done something wrong, being honest about it and apologizing — that's what's cool."

Ji-woo fidgeted with his fingers. Then what he'd done wasn't cool. Because he still hadn't been able to tell her.

"What if it's too late?"

Ji-woo asked in a small, weak voice. But it must have reached Je-heon, because he perched himself on the piano bench beside the boy.

"......"

"If you want to be a pianist, you have to be a cool kid first. That's how you get popular."

"Like you, Ahjussi?"

Je-heon laughed freely at Ji-woo's question.

"Seo-ha says so, and Auntie too, and Teacher Tami says you're handsome."

And that wasn't all. Whenever he came to the kindergarten, the teachers there said he was cool, too. At the mention of Teacher Tami, Je-heon's smooth brow twitched. He seemed to ponder for a moment, then his lips parted.

"What about Mom?"

"My mom?"

Ji-woo went quiet, as if lost in thought. Then he pictured Yeon-jae in his mind. In his memories, Yeon-jae with Je-heon never seemed to like him. The look in her eyes when she looked at Je-heon was always sad, or sharp.

"Are you and my mom friends, Ahjussi?"

Instead of answering, Ji-woo chose a question of his own. And at the child's question, a subtle light flickered in Je-heon's eyes.

"Do we look like friends to you?"

"Mmm. No."

Ji-woo's lips worked for a moment, as if he were thinking it over, then opened.

"I think you had a falling-out."

He remembered the kids at kindergarten who'd fought and then announced the next day, We're not friends anymore! If fighting and not making up was a falling-out, then Yeon-jae and Je-heon looked exactly like that.

"A falling-out?"

At the unexpected choice of words, Je-heon's mouth stretched, and then he burst out laughing.

"You've got a pretty good eye."

It was closer to a scoff than a smile, and yet it was striking enough to hold the child's gaze.

"Are you going to make up?"

A spark of light immediately lit up Ji-woo's eyes. If Mom and Ahjussi could be good friends again, maybe he could get into that place called the Foundation. A small sprout of hope unfurled in the child's heart.

Je-heon's lips, drawn in a straight line, were just about to part — when the tightly shut door of the hall opened, and Teacher Tami's bright, hearty voice rang out.

"Let's start practicing!"

Ji-woo turned, and there were Hye-gyeong and Seo-ha, already back.

The timing was cruel.