It Suits You

Could anything really make him that happy?

The memory rose unbidden — the way she herself had beamed the first time she ever sat down at a piano. Was this what her mother had felt, all those years ago, when she had reluctantly signed the Foundation's papers? If she plays the piano, she'll be happy.Yes. As long as my daughter is happy, that's enough. Had she soothed herself with that?

The smile Yeon-jae had been wearing as she watched Ji-woo began, little by little, to fade.

With Ji-woo and Seo-ha's turn as the finale, the kindergarten concert drew to a close. Teachers and classmates showered the two of them with congratulations, and Ji-woo, a bouquet crushed in his arms, came running straight for Yeon-jae.

"Mom! How was it? Did Ji-woo do a good job?"

He glued himself to her waist and peered up at her, eyes shining. He had already been praised a dozen times over, and still it was as if the most important verdict of all had yet to be delivered — expectation trembled in his gaze.

Yeon-jae stroked his hair, gently ruffling the dark strands.

"Mm. My son played so, so well. That was the best piano I heard all day."

"Really?"

"Of course. You were wonderful."

The praise must have been as sweet as chocolate, because the child broke into a grin so wide it nearly split his face.

"Since Ji-woo did so well, we should have a delicious dinner when we get home. What do you want to eat?"

"Pizza!"

"Then tonight we'll have an extra-special, extra-delicious pizza."

Ji-woo seized her hand and held on tight.

They watched the hall being hastily reset for the middle-school performances, then made their way back to the waiting room. Bags packed, goodbyes exchanged with Seo-ha and Hye-gyeong, they were ready to leave. Even as they stepped out into the corridor, Ji-woo's eyes kept darting this way and that, busily combing the crowd.

"Hmm. I saw him earlier…"

"Ji-woo, who are you looking for?"

"Him…"

He had only just begun to answer when his eyes went round. There, among a knot of staff, was Je-heon.

"Ahjussi!"

Ji-woo called out to him, bright as a bell. Je-heon had been speaking with someone; his gaze shifted to the child, then traveled, slowly, all the way to Yeon-jae. Ji-woo tried to tug her forward by the hand.

"Ji-woo, go on. Go talk with Ahjussi."

Yeon-jae let go of him first.

From the instant the performance ended, Ji-woo's heart had been hammering as if he'd been strapped into a roller coaster. Even as he took Seo-ha's hand and walked out to bow to the audience, his mind was full of his mother's face.

How did Mom see my playing?

I think I did well… she doesn't hate it, right?

Clutching his pounding chest, he lifted his head and found her. He had been hoping for her smile. What filled his vision first, though, was a strange, unreadable expression. Did I make a mistake?No. There wasn't a single one. He watched her for what felt like forever — and then, at last, she began to clap, and she smiled, and every last knot of tension in him came undone. If Seo-ha hadn't been holding his hand, he might well have crumpled to the floor right there.

In the space the tension left behind, excitement and joy rushed in. His teachers and friends congratulated him. His mother gave him the highest praise there was. Had there ever been a day as happy as this? Even tracing back through five whole years, he could not find one.

He was still smiling as they headed for the waiting room when, suddenly, he thought of Ahjussi. He was sure he had seen him sitting there, when he'd been searching for his mother. And now that Mom had praised him, he found he needed Ahjussi's praise as well. If a splendid grown-up said he had done well, it would feel like being truly, properly recognized.

"Ahjussi, how was Ji-woo?"

That was the first thing he asked, the moment he reached him. Light gathered in the child's eyes as he looked up. My last checkpoint.If I just get Ahjussi's compliment, today's sticker collection will be complete!

Faced with a gaze that sparkled to an almost unbearable degree, Je-heon gave a helpless little huff of a laugh.

"You did well. If you keep growing like this, you'll make a fine pianist."

Ji-woo said nothing, only shone.

"Is that what you came looking for me to hear?"

"Yeees! Ahjussi's compliment is my last sticker, you know."

"Is that so? I take it Mom praised you too, then."

Ji-woo nodded so hard his whole head bobbed. Purpose achieved, a new curiosity crept in. He rose onto his tiptoes and tugged at Je-heon's sleeve, and Je-heon, yielding to the pull, bent his knees until their eyes were level.

"Ahjussi, haven't you and Mom made up yet?"

The child glanced from Yeon-jae, standing at a distance, back to Je-heon, and asked it as if it were some tremendous secret. The corner of Je-heon's mouth twitched.

"You tell me. Your mom's a bit stubborn."

"Stubborn?"

"She won't take my offer to make up. I thought I'd gotten through to her this time."

A wryness sat on Je-heon's face as he answered.

"Then what do we do?"

Worry bloomed openly across Ji-woo's features.

"Ji-woo wants to play the piano. Can't you talk Mom into it?"

Je-heon was silent.

"There's nobody left who can help except you."

Having played tonight, his longing for the piano had only sunk its roots deeper.

"She said no."

The grim news, delivered once more, took the wind right out of him. Shoulders that had been soaring only moments ago slumped toward the floor.

"Does that mean I can't see Ahjussi anymore?"

Je-heon had said that without a Foundation contract, he would have to go back to Seoul. Ji-woo didn't know what the Foundation was, but going back to Seoul meant goodbye.

"Are we saying bye-bye forever?"

At the child's question, Je-heon quietly stroked his hair.

"Well. I have a feeling we might see each other one more time."

An unreadable smile spread across his mouth.

"One more time?"

The thought that this was not the end made Ji-woo's eyes go round. Je-heon's gaze, which had been resting on the child, moved past him.

"Ji-woo, time to go."

When he turned, Yeon-jae was there — he had no idea when she had come up behind him.

It had been five minutes since Ji-woo went to Je-heon. What she had taken for a brief hello was threatening to stretch past ten, and Yeon-jae moved first. She took Ji-woo's hand, ready to tell him it was time to go home.

"Say goodbye to Ahjussi. And tell him thank you."

"Yeees."

Ji-woo turned as she guided him and bowed his head toward Je-heon.

"Thank you. And you mustn't forget our promise, Ahjussi."

"I won't."

She had told him to say goodbye, and some strange exchange had passed between them instead. Yeon-jae's brow furrowed at a conversation she couldn't follow. She almost asked what that was about, then let it go. She could always ask Ji-woo on the way home.

"Goodbye."

"Take care, Jeong Ji-woo."

Watching the two of them part so warmly, Yeon-jae felt an inexplicable tightness near her heart. After today, Je-heon would be leaving Daejeon. Which meant, she realized, that Ji-woo's meetings with his father were coming to an end as well. Frozen for a moment by that strange swell of feeling, she bowed her head toward him.

"Have a safe trip back to Seoul."

And with that, she turned to go.

"Pardon?"

What does?

The words had come from nowhere. Yeon-jae turned back — and before she could even ask, his voice, level and without inflection, settled clearly against her ear.

Yeon-jae set the boxed pizza and her handbag down on the living-room table. While Ji-woo was in the bathroom, she stepped into the bedroom and stopped in front of the mirror.

Her own reflection looked back at her. Hair drawn up neatly in a half-up style. The long, straight fall that had once reached her waist had, at some point, been cut so short it barely grazed her collarbones. A wash of pink shadow at her eyes, eyeliner filling the waterline. And lip gloss. She had put on makeup for the first time in so long that the face in the glass felt almost like a stranger's.

I said it suits you. That dress.

The low voice still seemed to linger around the shell of her ear. Yeon-jae laid a hand over her heart. Through her palm she could feel it beating. The last thing Je-heon had said to her had followed her all the way home, and would not leave.

"Honestly… why would you say something like that."

You're making me confused.

For a split second, she had been certain his memories had come back. It had been no different — not in the slightest — from the things he used to say to her when they were together. She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. She knew it wasn't true, and still she was doing this to herself; the self-reproach that surged up made her shake her head, hard.

It was over anyway. She had refused the Foundation, and Je-heon would go back to Seoul. This is how it should be, she muttered, and stripped off the dress without a shred of lingering. She changed into a comfortable house dress and came out to the living room.

Ji-woo was still in the bathroom; the living room stood empty. Yeon-jae opened the pizza box, took out two small plates, and set them across from each other on the table. She had just finished laying out cups and forks when the bathroom door opened.

"Pizza!"

"Ji-woo, you washed your hands, right?"

"Yeees. Mom, I'm not a little baby!"

"Oh my. Is that so? Good job."

He was still a baby in her eyes, but she didn't say so. She answered with a smile instead. Ji-woo settled himself carefully into the chair she had pulled out for him, and his feet danced in midair, kicking with pure pizza-joy. He picked up a slice and bit into it with a happy little chomp. Yeon-jae watched him chew, then reached for a slice of her own — and that was when he spoke.

"Mom, is Jeffkin coming to Korea?"

Yeon-jae looked up, and their eyes met. Curiosity shone, bright and vivid, in the child's gaze.