“It’s me, Dahee,” I replied.
She waved me in to my relief and put her glasses on. “Oh, Dahee, there you are, I’m so glad, come in, come in,” she urged.
I continued into the room, and she reached farther still and hugged me, the way she always did. I was so relieved she was still my kun-eomma. She urged me to sit on the bed and said, “Take up space, Dahee, spread out.” I tried to but was still careful not to disturb her newspapers and books. The one she’d been reading was blue with a painting on the cover: a group of figures standing before another who wore a hat that looked like the origami hats I’d learned to make. The title stated in white letters:Virtuous Women.Below it was the subtitle:Three Classic Korean Novels. And then three more names of what must be those novels:A Nine Cloud Dream, Queen Inhyo?n,andCh’unhyang.
I touched the glossy cover. “A Korean book?” I said.
She patted it. “It’s a good translation. I’ve read it so many times, but each time I notice something else. Especially that last one, the story of Chunhyang.”
I stared at the books on the shelves around the room. My aunt awed me. There were so many, how could she read them all and then read them again? It felt like a superhuman feat.
My aunt continued, “Chunhyang’s mother dreamt of a blue crane before Chunhyang was born. Blue cranes aren’t native to Korea, so maybe it was actually a Himalayan monal. They have an iridescent blue wing. It meant her child would know great love. I’ve had dreams like that, of birds. Large-winged birds. Like Chunhyang’s mom I was so happy when I learned I was pregnant.” She touched the book again as if to sear that detail into her brain. “Do you remember your dreams?” she added.
“No,” I replied, but she looked sad so I told her about a recent school project on birds. “My parents have a pair of wooden mandarin ducks on a shelf in their room,” I said. “They let me take them to school. My mom told me you get them as a gift when you’re married, but she didn’t explain why.”
Kun-eomma laughed, which brought on a stretch of coughs. When she was calm again, she said, “A lot of couples get them as gifts on their wedding day because mandarin ducks stay together their whole lives. Cranes do too. Not sure about those pretty Himalayan monals.” She chuckled, and I joined in at the thought of birds getting married.
When it was quiet, she said, “Sit, please. What have you been thinking about lately? Me, I’ve been thinking about all the places I want to visit this year, when it’s warm again. Why haven’t I gone before now? We should all go together, you and your mom, Channing and me. Singapore and Vietnam, Greece and Turkey. Are you game?” She was reclining now with pillows behind her back. So many pillows, I counted six. Since I liked talking with her, I returned to sitting on the bed but was prepared to get up if she coughed.
“I’ll go with you, Kun-eomma,” I offered.
She nodded. “Good. I love that you’re willing to go out into the world. I wish Channing did. She’s always playing those video games in her room, never wants to go anywhere. We even put a lock on her computer so she couldn’t play, but she broke into it. I don’t see you constantly on a computer. Do you like those games, too?”
I was embarrassed to tell her I didn’t have a computer to play games on. Changing the subject to reading, I said my favorite book was stillMisty of Chincoteague, which she’d given me the last time I’d visited her. She smiled and directed me toward a tower of books that reached up to my waist.
“Take whatever you want,” she urged.
Right then, I slid off the bed and sat down on the floor to inspect the stack. The spines were slick and bright, newer than those in the school library with plastic covers that dulled the designs. At the very top was one calledA Single Shardand below that,Rivers in Korea. I took both.
“I have so much to do. I didn’t think I’d run out of time,” she said, still musing on lost plans.
There was so much sadness in my aunt’s voice that I defended Channing even though I didn’t know my cousin. “When she’s older she’ll want to go. We can all go together.”
She looked at me as if she knew I’d said those words as a wish. “Thank you for that,” Kun-eomma said.
Afraid she’d start coughing again, I told her I would leave to let her rest. “One more thing, Dahee,” she said. “Did you know your grandfather is coming from Korea?”
I told her I didn’t.
“He’s yours and Channing’s—he’s your dad’s dad. The only living family we have from that generation. Funny thing is I feel like he could have been my father more than the one I had.”
I must have had an odd expression on my face, because she smiled. “Doyou remember him? You were five when you left Korea, so I would think you’d have some memory of him?”
I shook my head. She continued, “He’s moving here to help out. Channing will need him. My point is this is a good thing. He’s like us, Dahee. You and me. He loves stories.” She began to cough again.
I waited, holding my breath, flattered to be in any group that included my aunt. In a moment, she continued, “Promise me you’ll look out for Channing. I mean if I can’t.” Her words hung between us. I must have looked confused, because she added, “Don’t look so worried. I’ll be here, if I have anything to say about it, I will. But I feel better knowing you’ll look out for her.”
She continued to speak when I stayed silent. “Dahee, when I was pregnant with Channing, I was worried about her being alone. I don’t know how I knew it then. It was just a feeling, so when your mom said she was pregnant with you, I felt this huge weight lift. We promised each other that the two of you would be like sisters. I mean, you’re cousins so it’s like you’re sisters anyway, but when you were born on the same day, I knew my wish had come true. Look after one another? Promise?”
She held out her arms, and I reached over and hugged her. She smelled of sweet pea and pears. My aunt had a reason to make me promise. Channing needed protecting, but how did her mother know so many years before?
Chapter 10
Channing said I was a pessimist. To her, my reaction to those children left by themselves in front of Duane Reade was an example. The parent came and all was well, she reminded me. For her sake, I tried to be more optimistic than I felt inside. I still had to be cautious. Noticing what was out of the ordinary could save someone’s life.
I’d gone to the grocery early before Channing and the children woke to buy a few staples: milk, bread, eggs, butter, and, for Channing, avocados. She loved them for breakfast. On my way to the store, Harabeoji called from the Yuns’ house to see what our plans were for the day. I told him we had to clean the house and that we’d check in with him later. I wanted him to enjoy the time he had with his friend. Until this point, we had planned to spend only the weekend in East End.
As soon as I returned to the house, I cut open the avocado that was the ripest. Rather than a lovely hard brown seed, the center had a shriveled and hollow husk. I dropped it on the counter in disgust.
