3.Jin
Our final daysin Philadelphia pass quickly. They’re days full of shopping bags, tourist landmarks, and Monroe’s mother insisting we try even more restaurants she swears are the best in existence.
I indulge her. I indulge both of them.
It’s become a surprising enjoyable past time watching Monroe and her mother together. They move through department stores with the intensity and focus of military operatives and laugh so sweetly when they share a mother/daughter moment, how can I not find it engaging?
I’ve long since lost the fight of trying to deny I have a soft spot for Monroe Ross—andby extension, her mother.
I carry what they hand me without complaint, trailing behind as they debate the merits of one dress over another, or discuss a street market we’ll be attending later.
It’s foreign to me, this kind of domesticity. The casual intimacy of family rituals I never had. But I find I don’t mind it as much as I once would have.
The man I was before meeting Monroe is almost an entirely different one than who I am today. That Jin was coldand closed off, completely against the idea he could evertrulycare for anyone.
I was ruled by discipline. I sought domination and success at all times.
The man I am today is still guided by those same principles and desires. But he is also capable of recognizing he is human, and with that comes caring for others at times.
A few select others, but others just the same.
…which is maybe why the goodbye at the airport is harder than I anticipated.
Monroe’s mother clings to her daughter like she’s afraid to let go, tears streaming down her cheeks as she reminds her to call every week and to stay safe.
Then she turns to me, and before I can react, she pulls me into an embrace that catches me off guard. Her motherly warmth surrounds me, serving as a reminder that Daisha Ross means it when she says I’m becoming like a son to her.
I’ve never experienced motherly love like this—or have memory of, having lost my mother so young.
“Take care of my baby,” she whispers against my ear. “She’s all I have.”
I nod once, stiff in her arms but appreciating the gesture more than she probably realizes. “I will. I will always take care of her.”
What Monroe’s mother doesn’t know—what we’ve chosen not to tell her yet—is that her baby is now carrying a baby of her own.
Monroe and I discussed it during quiet nights in her mother’s guest room, tangled together in the dark, speaking in hushed voices about what comes next.
The pregnancy is still early. We don’t even know how many weeks along she is, only that it’s new enough that anything could happen. It felt premature to share the news before we’ve fully processed it ourselves.
So for now, it remains ours. A secret held between us until we decide we’re ready to share. But when we do, her mother will be first to know.
“I’m never getting on another plane again.”
Monroe sighs as she steps through the door and kicks off her tennis shoes. I’m half a pace behind her, our luggage in hand. I set both suitcases down as she’s already wandered over to the couch and unfastened the button on her jeans. She throws herself down as if she plans on never getting up again.
“You said that after the flighttoPhiladelphia as well,” I point out.
“Yeah, but now Ireallymean it—the bloat and nausea are the final straws.”
I cross the living room of the apartment we now share.
After my last apartment was set ablaze and Monroe’s became a target of our enemies, we made the decision to move in together.
But it was crucial we found a location that wasn’t sullied by past events, which is why we chose Namcheon-dong, an urban but upscale residential neighborhood in Busan that’s lined with cherry blossom trees and small, artisan cafés.
It’s one of the safest areas in the city, and our apartment has quickly become home.
Monroe fell in love with the spacious rooms and other details like the quartz countertops, heated hardwood floors, and the private balcony where she likes to drink her morning tea.
