“???,” I say, watching him mouth the word. “You’ll do great.”
“I love you.” He leans over to kiss me softly. “And I love our little kimchi dumpling.”
I groan at the nickname. “We are not calling our child ‘kimchi dumpling.’”
“Too late. It’s growing on me.” He grins, then turns serious. “Hey. This is good news, Minji. The best news. Your mom is going to be over the moon.”
I inhale deeply and nod. “I know. It’s just… I never pictured myself here. With you. Starting a family. Sometimes it feels unreal, like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s love story.”
“It’s our love story,” Aaron reminds me, kissing my knuckles. “The one we’re writing together.”
We ride the elevator to my mother’s floor, holding hands. The familiar smell of her cooking greets us before we even knock—spicy kimchi jjigae, bulgogi, and something sweet. My stomach growls, pregnancy hunger winning over my nerves.
Mom opens the door, her face lighting up when she sees us. She’s wearing her favorite apron, the one I sent her last Christmas, with her hair pulled back in a neat bun. She pulls me into a hug before turning to Aaron. “You both look tired. Come in, come in!”
Aaron bows slightly; the gesture he knows pleases her. “?????, ??,(Hello, Mom),” he says and I catch the flashof pride in my mother’s eyes. She’s grown to love him in ways I never expected; their relationship is built on a foundation of mutual respect and Aaron’s genuine desire to understand my heritage.
“We brought wine.” I hand her the bottle we picked up from that little shop she loves.
“And these,” Aaron adds, presenting a beautifully wrapped box of her favorite chocolates from the fancy department store downtown.
My mother beams and ushers us inside. Her apartment is just as it always is—spotless, filled with family photos (now including several of Aaron and me on our wedding day), and smelling like home in a way my New York apartment never does.
“Sit, sit,” she insists, gesturing to the table already set with her best dishes. “Everything is ready. Your stepfather had to go back to Busan so he wasn’t able to be here, but he wants you to know he is very upset he missed you.”
“It’s okay, Aaron and I will be here for another week or so.” I take a seat.
We settle in as she brings out dish after dish—more food than three people could ever eat, but that’s how my mother shows love. I notice she’s made all my childhood favorites, as if she somehow knew this dinner was special.
“How is the firm?” she asks as we begin eating, passing dishes around with practiced efficiency.
“Busy,” I reply, taking a small portion of everything to be polite, though my body is craving the spicy tofu soup in particular. “We just hired two new associates last month.”
“And your book?” she asks Aaron, who is happily loading his plate with kimchi.
“The final edits are done.” He smiles, pride evident in his voice. “It comes out in spring.”
My mother nods approvingly. “I tell all my friends my son-in-law is a famous writer and has them turned into movies.” She brags with such smug satisfaction that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
We talk easily as we eat, catching up on family news and neighborhood gossip. I’m waiting for the right moment to share our news. Under the table, Aaron’s knee presses against mine, a small gesture of support.
“So,” Mom begins, setting down her chopsticks and giving us that look I’ve known since childhood—the one that means she knows something is up. “What is the special occasion for this visit? You two never just show up out of the blue. Which means you two have something to tell me, yes?”
I nearly choke on my water. Even across oceans, my mother’s intuition remains razor-sharp. Aaron squeezes my hand under the table as I clear my throat.
“We do, actually.” I meet her gaze. My heart hammers against my ribs. “Mom, we’re… I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, she sits perfectly still, her expression unreadable. Then her eyes fill with tears, and she covers her mouth with both hands.
“Oh my!” she exclaims, jumping up from her chair so quickly it nearly topples backward. Before I can stand, she’s rushing around the table, pulling me into a fierce hug that smells of home and comfort. “My baby is having a baby!”
Relief washes over me as she rocks me back and forth, murmuring Korean endearments into my hair. When she finally pulls away, her cheeks are wet with tears, but she’s smiling so widely I think her face might split.
“How long?” she demands, one hand still gripping my arm while the other reaches for Aaron, drawing him into our circle.
“About twelve weeks,” I tell her. “We wanted to wait until the first trimester was over before we shared the news.”
“I knew it!” she declares triumphantly. “Mother always knows. You look different—glowing!” She turns to Aaron, patting his cheek affectionately. “You will be a wonderful father.”
