Chapter Text
Fingers drum the steering wheel, beats constructing a symphony of anticipation, before one hand wanders to the cell phone in her pocket. Minjeong’s rectangular screen is set ablaze, and her eyes are grounded on the wallpaper of her most precious and cherished thing ever — her daughter — before snapping her gaze out and to the large, beaming numbers, glazing over them.
2:44 PM.
It should be any minute now.
She can’t keep Yizhuo and Aeri waiting too long.
Digits wrap around the steering disk, clenching the grasp as she glares at the academy building, assimilating the structure and layout solely from the view of her vehicle, the vehicle being parked in the pick-up zone. Eyeshot is limited, but it still manages to let her capture a basic sketch of the school.
The academy building isn’t the only thing Minjeong’s trying to familiarize herself with. Even when it’s May, marking it a month since she began fetching her daughter — Minji — herself, her autonomy has yet to fully integrate into the new routine she’s following, so everything still feels foreign. But it doesn’t discourage her from stopping and withdrawing from her pristine routine.
Yizhuo helped her establish the routine. When the school year began, Minjeong asked if she could pick up Minji until she got her work life sorted out, which, as presumed, wouldn’t take long since she had been handling it for a certain extent now. Yizhuo agreed (with the condition that Minjeong would treat her to hotpot whenever she liked) so now, Yizhuo knows the ins and outs of the routine — the routes, the timing, and where to park, and taught Minjeong once after she had finally got her shit together.
A burst of faint ringing clouds her ears, into her thought-occupied mind, and on queue, children flood out of the building, enthusiasm bubbling with each kid. The woman browses her gaze over each kid, skimming for a little girl with sleek black hair, but that criteria she’s running with is generic and could be used to define every other kid so she reclines in her seat, feeling the leather slap the back of her head. Minji knows where to go, being she always arrives at the right location, at the right car, at the right time so it should be okay, right?
But as minutes pass and the children link with their cars, dissipating in the process, and leaving only the supervisors to linger, she knitted her eyebrows, rising up her seat to at least try to get reassurance that her daughter is out here, and yet she still can’t see her, so she swiftly unbuckles her seatbelt and cracks her door open, but as if the universe has been notified of her worries, the moment she stands up, her daughter appeared, skipping cheerfully to her direction.
When Minji conclusively reached the car, assuringly worming in, that’s when Minjeong did as well, snapping her seatbelt back on and twisting the car key into liveliness.
“Minji-yah, why did you get out late?” She asks, craning her head to the back, looking at Minji.
But she must’ve thought Minjeong’s gaze is an invitation to unpack her own question, because she replies with, “Umma, who’s my daddy?”
A gap of muteness.
Minjeong bats her eyelashes, breaking from a mini daze. “Uh, what? Erm,” she unclogs her throat, reaching for her water bottle, “why do you ask?”
This isn’t the first time Minji has asked her mother this, though each time the question is sparingly used, it always manages to catch her off-guard.
But this case of a moment and question has more of a warrant to be categorized as particularly surprising in Minjeong’s eyes. Usually, Minji would greet her first and then proceed to yap about something related to school, such as or especially her teacher, Ms. Yun. But she didn’t exactly do that, rather asking about… her other parent. The thought of her sours her face into a grimace. But anyway, Minjeong has more of a justification for why she’s caught off-guard.
Minji unzips her backpack, rummaging for something, until she caresses something and fishes it out, promptly handing it to Minjeong.
She takes it.
Raking the top bold and conspicuous letters for a concept of what the direction of the paper is about, the sheet is about a parent-teacher conference. Minjeong brings down her water bottle after sipping on it, stabilizing the paper with another hand, and reads it.
Dear Parents,
We are excited to invite you to our upcoming Parent-Teacher Conferences. This conference is an open opportunity for you to meet with your child’s teacher, discuss their progress, collaborate on ways to support their learning journey, and ask any relevant questions about your child.
Dates: May 15 to May 17
Time: 4:00 PM to 7:00 PM
Location: Room 1-11
Please take a moment to think about topics and questions you would like to discuss or ask in preparation. To help us plan accordingly, kindly RSVP by May 10th by contacting the school office through phone number or email. We look forward to your participation in this important event.
Thank you,
Ms. Yu
Teacher
Soo-man Elementary School
Minjeong chokes on her water when she catches sight of the familiar coined letters that says Yu.
What the fuck, she comments mentally as she tries her best to clean out her pipe that’s clogged with water, coughing. It’s a cough after another cough, and after what she swears was an eternity of a struggle, it finally clears, and she hums one last time to rid any residue before glancing back at Minji.
“Wh— I thought Ms. Yun was the name of your teacher, Minji-yah?”
“It is!”
“Then why does it say Ms.,” she pauses, glancing back at the inscribed paper to make sure she’s not mistaken, but much to her dismay again, she isn’t, “..Ms. Yu?” She winces speaking her name. It’s quite an involuntary, reflexive habit she has, and Minjeong doesn’t entirely think she’ll concoct a plan to fix it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she innocently says with a beaming smile, though Minjeong’s not sure if it’s reassuring for her. “But Umma, Seonsaengnim wanna meet you!”
Her teacher?
Actually, thinking about it, she hasn’t truly encountered and met the teacher. For the school’s open house, both Minjeong and her daughter were looking forward to meeting Minji’s soon-to-be teacher, but she wasn’t present. Stumped but curious, Minjeong had inquired about the teacher’s whereabouts to a staff, and they had simply stated that the teacher was presumably busy with a meeting. And with that, Minjeong merely concluded their visit as normal but succinct with the absence of.. Ms. Yun.
It’s still intriguing that Minjeong has yet to meet her even then, participating in picking up Minji for about a while now, and every time she fetches her, Minji would shower the teacher with favoring compliments and praises to Minjeong, erecting silent interest in meeting her.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll go,” she places the invitation on the cushion of the passenger seat. It’s an oath practically, to begin being more involved in her life when for the past few years she’s been nothing but occupied with her jobs.
“No, she’s right there!” Minji bends forward, finger pointing at the front window of the car, and Minjeong turns her head, but with who she’s looking at, her eyes widen, and it must be the years' worth of longing conducting her view because looking at a pretty woman with a familiar face, familiar height, familiar everything, she swears it’s…
It’s Jimin.
Her heart sinks, and so does her jaw.
She shakes her head, cognizance sliding back in. It must be delusions fabricated by her yearning. If so, it’s humorous to think of, she supposes, until the woman is actually sauntering towards her car, and now it’s a bit alarming because the doubts of the teacher being Jimin are crumbling apart and—
Oh shit, it really is Jimin. And she’s heading towards her.
There are a plethora of matters Minjeong is truly thankful for — genuinely, there’s a lot, and she can’t entirely diagnose them all, but for the ones she can identify in her mind are: one, her beloved daughter — Minji; two, her car, its ability to run properly, and for the fact that it’s on right now; and three, that Jimin is walking leisurely, meaning she’s quite far from Minjeong’s vehicle, leaving space and ultimately an opportunity for her to flee.
And she took it, putting the petal to the metal, pivoting her steering wheel.
Perhaps she should place an interest in auto racing the way she’s driving so fast. Assumingly, gas is probably exhausting behind her, leaving a trail for Jimin to follow, if she’s willing to. Assumingly because Minjeong’s not willing to look back, eyes focused on the route she is still trying to familiarize herself with to leave.
As though the seconds stretched into a time that felt immeasurable, when her vehicle meets a particular spot detailing, signaling her successful escape, it brings another thing she’s thankful for — four, her luck, or more specifically, her luck in fleeing from Jimin, she adds with a grimace.
“Umma, Seonsaengnim wanted to meet you!” Minji relays again, exclaiming. Minjeong could practically hear her pout at the end of the sentence.
“Oh no, uh,” Minjeong brings up all her might to try and string a coherent excuse when her mind is filled and crowded with the overwhelming revelation about Minji’s teacher. “I forgot, we’re gonna get ice cream before going home,” she says, not specifying a special occasion for why.
But it seems to have pleased Minji because she sits in silence for the whole ride duration, patiently waiting. When Minjeong glances behind her at the red light, she sees her daughter kicking her feet, which is adorable. After swiftly arriving and ordering an ice cream sandwich for Minji, Minjeong's light panic is momentarily sidetracked by the view of the drive and the songs on the radio throughout the ride, until they reach home.
She stations her car in the garage and grabs the invitation paper before keying her house’s door open, letting her daughter step in before her.
When her daughter crosses the threshold of a separate room (presumably to where her grandparents are), engulfing the woman in silence, her mind rumbles again to substitute for the muteness, doing so with the thought of Jimin.
Jimin.
“..Oh my God, oh my God,” she mumbles as she paces around, emptying her hands to hold her head as if it’s going to detonate from the thought of her, and it might just be. Each step should calm her outburst but she feels only panic snaking through her body with her strides.
Things cannot be serious right now.
It shouldn’t be.
Minjeong’s stupid ex is her daughter’s teacher — favored by her daughter herself, at that!
Well unarguably, Yu Jimin is far from stupid, but still! The absurdness of this whole situation is so baffling to digest, and yet, Minjeong has managed to absorb it, although maybe not too well when she’s circling around with a mind that’s screaming profanity after profanity that she dares not to let out. Actually, Minjeong supposes she could with only her in the room. But ever since Minji came to the world, she efficiently trained herself to abstain from swearing, and now blasphemous words just feel wrong to say.
Now she’s wondering if Jimin has also trained herself not to as well, being an elementary teacher and all.
Oh gosh. Again. With the thought of her, the discovery reverberates again. Yu Jimin is a teacher. An elementary teacher. Minji’s teacher.
She scrunches her bob. Ugh! This really can’t be. It’s just a woman who happens to have the same hair as her, the same height as her, the same beauty as her, right?
No, it really is her. She’s truly losing the logical chunk of her noggin spiraling because of her.
“Hellooo?” Yizhuo waves her hand over Minjeong’s gaze, snapping her out of her thought trance, but Minjeong frightfully yelps for she forgot Yizhuo was in her house, “Minjeong, what’s going on? What happened?”
She fastens her gaze on the other woman, inhaling a few times from the scare and such to huff out, “Jimin works at Soo-man Elementary School!”
She stares at her directly in her eyes before lamely drawing out, “Oh yeeaaah,” lacking an incredulous tone — unlike Minjeong. “You didn’t know?”
“What are you— of course I didn’t know! Why do you think I’m panicking, Yizhuo!” Minjeong strides away, thoughts still overloaded with shattered coherency all broken from hysteria, until she races back to a standing Yizhuo and hushingly but angrily utters, “And why didn’t you tell me!”
She blinks, and Minjeong didn’t know such a simple gesture could irk her. “I thought you knew,” Yizhuo admits.
She crumbles her eyebrows together. “No!” Minjeong cries, shaking her head. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have sent Minji there!”
The younger woman lets the word hang in the air for a short interval before speaking again. “I mean... I guess she’s going to have to meet her other Umma eventually,” she says with an awkward beam.
“You’re not helping, ” Minjeong hisses.
Minjeong glances down as she’s biting the side of her finger, stationing herself in a position to draw ideas — actually, hopefully, resolutions. A cut moment in reverie, and she meets the Chinese woman’s stare when she strums her first concept.
“Maybe there’s time—I could maybe move Minji to a different school—”
Yizhuo instantly shuts her down. “Minjeongie, please don’t do that only because of your history with her… I mean, if Minji likes her then she should be a good teacher, right? Can’t you prove that from years ago?”
Minjeong groans, only for the fact that she’s right. (Besides talking about her teacher,) Minji has often babbled to her the materials she has learned which exhibits her comprehension under Jimin’s lessons. And even if she didn’t, Minjeong had, as Jimin had aided her often with studying and expanding on materials Minjeong was weak or befuddled in, unwrapping the cords of complications and complexities into articulated chunks easy to absorb.
She supposes that her confusion and lagged processor of a brain were the main components that erupted the start of their relationship.
She shakes her head at the thought. If only she was as inherently smart as Jimin, it would've saved her the ache and pain of everything.
“What do you mean no? She taught you basically everything, did she not?”
“No! I meant yes—I was thinking of something else, that’s why I shook my head.”
“Okay well—” Yizhuo bends down to retrieve the piece of invitation Minjeong unhanded, “—did you find out from this paper?” She asks, index finger on the Ms. Yu printed at the bottom.
She shakes her head again, this time the gesture acts as an actual, deliberate response. “Not exactly, I found out when she was coming towards me and my car. But I drove away.”
She widens her eyes, grasping the same words Yizhuo was also taking in, “Oh my God, she was coming towards me! Minji—she told me that Jimin wanted to meet me! Oh—” She hesitates, bouncing her gaze around, “—shit. She might head towards me tomorrow or the next next day or— Yizhuo, I—I can’t meet her.”
The other woman frowns, setting the sheet down. “I would pick up Minji for you, but I have a date with Aeri tomorrow.”
Minjeong dips her head comprehensively before rebounding it up and around. “Speaking of Aeri, where is she?”
“She was using the restroom but I don’t know if she’s still there.”
Minjeong nods, before brushing her gaze back to the paper. The invitation. The parent-teacher meeting. Musing over it drives her to lower her eyes and force a hand on her forehead for support, as if preparing herself for an impending headache. “Man, I don’t even know if I should still go to the conference.” With the newfound knowledge of the teacher’s identity being who it is, the fact becomes a little discouragement to roll in.
Yizhuo attentively hums, allowing an interval of silence to cloak them both, soaking it in as if debating for a selected response, until she wields her voice again. “I think you should. You’ll eventually meet one way or another, so it’s more of—would you rather meet again voluntarily and break things there, or meet in another possibly awkward way that you aren’t prepared for?”
Minjeong cranes her head behind, hearing and witnessing Aeri descend down the stairs, phone directly casting over her face, cackling out something like “I mean, I would too when it’s you,” to her device, before turning her attention back on Yizhuo.
Minjeong sighs, then suddenly seethes, each word drenching with exasperation, an emotion that’s still as fresh as when it was birthed, all due to her brain reeling back to that awful memory. “It wouldn’t have been this way if only that girl… ended things properly, like maybe addressing things sober and not drunk.”
She presses on, her tone gradually intensifying with each syllable. “Maybe this wouldn’t be much of a problem if—if! God, there’s so much wrong and it’s so frustrating. I don’t care if it’s over half a decade, I’m still upset. It’s like she’s just coming back to my life like an annoying mosquito—one you thought has finally left after getting you but nooo. You know what? I think I need to give Yu Jimin a piece of my mind. Like tear her apart when I see her again. It will be on sight. I won’t drive away from her again. If anything, she is gonna be the one doing that. Mark my words.”
Yizhuo bobs her head slowly and affirmingly, listening as silence enters, and when Aeri taps her shoulder from behind, Minjeong swings around in her direction.
At that moment, Minjeong supposes this is karma peeling the threads of her luck away — beginning to act as the consequences of her driving away from a not-exactly innocent woman — because Aeri awkwardly says, “I’m on a call with, um.. you know who… Her.”
She blinks, censorship truly unlatched.
“Oh, fuck.”
-
So actually, do not mark her words.
Is Minjeong a coward? For not sparing another stuttering second and just leaving the moment her child steps in and situates herself snuggly in her car? For telling her child that she should hurriedly exit the academy the moment the bell chimes off?
Perhaps.
But it’s for a reason, Minjeong excuses mentally, as it’s only for the meantime, and she needs to starve Jimin her presence for several extra days.
Or, in frankness, Minjeong just does not want to meet her, even if it means stretching the days as long as possible. Stretching because Minjeong can not escape the inevitable — the inevitable being that she has already notified the school she’ll be coming to the conference; this means — with hollow absence of fortune — that she’s bound to see Yu Jimin regardless. But Minjeong is roping in as much power as she can to merely escape seeing her for now, even if it’s temporary.
Her efforts aren’t futile. To declare the actuality, she hasn’t caught a moment of a woman (Jimin) stepping out during dismissal to try and get in touch with her, swiftly evacuating and such. But it could be that Jimin is busy with educator’s duties. Or possibly, Jimin is intentionally avoiding that task as she overheard Minjeong’s disgruntled rambling via that call with Aeri (she’s not sure how to feel if that’s the case). Whichever it is, she’s just glad she’s successful with her fleeing.
Still, her contentness can’t surmount and ease the ache in her stomach, one where it feels like a ball tightening and twisting itself into a pit — a pit wrung in dreadfulness. It’s been blossoming with each drifting day, though Minjeong did find some fruition with her job’s stacks of market research and other legal paperwork as a distraction from it, momentarily subsiding the feeling.
But as Minjeong glares at the invitation, combing through it, the pit crumples up again, stronger hold and all.
May 15 to May 17.
The day of the fifteenth is nigh — approaching.
Minjeong rakes her fingers through her short brown hair, the other hand fisting the grasp on the paper, reading, Please take a moment to think about topics and questions you would like to discuss or ask in preparation.
Sure. Minjeong will do just that. In fact, she already has some, drawing in the shelved questions and concerns she’s had for some years now, like: ‘What girl did you see at the graduation party that motivated you to break up with me?’ and, ‘Are you aware you’re an asshole for breaking up with me before my finals and as I was studying?’
That’s quite little, actually. The woman swears she had more than that. Guess they dissolved over the flow of time, she supposes.
She turns on her phone, screen glowing with the date May 14th, signaling that the conference is only a day near and that she has a period of numerous hours left available for her to stir up and prepare more questions before she sets foot in Room 1-11, proximity close with her ex.
Oh wow. It’s truly dawning on her.
She curls into a ball in her car seat. She mopes, her throat swallowing either a lump or chains of curses.
-
The meeting’s truly is nigh — so nigh and near in fact that anxiety chews her stomach from the insides, running it into shreds, all of which began after she affirmingly checked in with the staff about the appointment and, by doing so, acquired a grasp of a new paper — a document cataloging details about the conference’s class, time, and of course, teacher.
She removes her glare from the paper, ignoring her bouncing leg, and onto Minji, who’s at a small gap of distance far from Minjeong. She set foot away to approach a friend and yap to her, her friend especially engrossed in her talk. The woman softly smiles at the sight, tenderness cracking it open.
Looking at Minji, Minjeong concludes that, if Jimin didn’t know Minji was Minjeong’s daughter, she was going to certainly have cognizance of it sooner or later, which is fine in her opinion. She isn’t, however, going to know that Minji is also Jimin’s own daughter, nor should Minji know that — to be aware she has an asshole of a person as her ‘daddy’. Minjeong shakes her head and clicks her tongue from that thought.
She has considered other alternatives for the impending meeting to go smoothly, and by smoothly she means to relieve the rotten, pesky twist in her stomach. Other resorts, like passing the duty to her parents or bringing Aeri and Yizhuo for moral support were tempting concepts for Minjeong, but ultimately, she disregarded them all, as she must do this singlehandedly as Minji’s mother. If she manages to leave the room without any cuffs on her and Jimin intact — clean of injuries — a standing ovation should be arranged, all in dedication to her and her self-regulation.
A voice pulls Minjeong out of the thought void. “Umma, it’s our turn!” Minji gleefully announces.
She blinks several times before mumbling a tiny curse word, one so faint it’s only for her and the brush of air to hear. She rises up and pats her daughter’s smooth hair, sucking in a huff as she treads through a path to the room, feet suddenly slinging with weight, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Like how the days fled, and how she did with her driving, this too shall be swift, over before her cognizance could consciously declare it.
…Right?
After her labored steps are finished and come to a halt when Minjeong is admitted into the room, her heart is already thumping profusely, beats practically ringing in her ear, all while her stomach churns and twists so badly she fears she might just have to excuse herself from this conference to go to the restroom.
It doesn’t help that Jimin is right there. Her back is directed to her for she’s occupied with a small task and she’s not sure if that eases or worsens her anticipation.
She fidgets, her hand that’s blanketing her daughter’s hand nervously tracing the smoothness of Minji’s thumb, and Minjeong cranes her head, looking behind at the door. It’s not a far escape. She can just leave right now.
But before her thought ever turns into an initiative, Minji’s teacher turns around.
“Hello, Ms...” her voice attracts Minjeong’s attention, turning her head back to her, and Jimin’s tongue wanders away from her sentence as her eyes ground on Minji and to the short-haired woman, scanning her, “..Kim..?” A pause. “Minjeong?”
It’s easy to miss from the sight of others, where her eyes soften in a cut flicker, but Minjeong captures it. She’s sure Jimin is now mentally constructing the naked piece of new reason on why Minji’s mother drove away so quickly and away from her that day given Minjeong’s appearance here (if she hasn’t already on that call). Or perhaps she’s thinking about something else, with her being stalled in place.
She’s only taking her presence better than Jimin is with her because she (sort of) fully braced herself for this, knowing the identity of the teacher beforehand and such. If she hadn’t, Minjeong would’ve been in sync with her reaction — feet frosted firmly over the floor, jaw agape.
Minjeong inhales, suddenly conscious over her lungs drinking in the air, and she flattens her lips into a compacted, tight smile, all while mentally attempting to be oblivious to her heart clutching. “Hi.”
Even the strongest soldiers should commend her for her strength as it took every might in her fiber to keep the urge to lunge at her within bounds and into cuffs of restraints. Even more surprising, she manages to let out a small greeting, one where her voice is purely gentle and not rough with anger.
Jimin sucks in a breath, “I’m glad I could finally meet Minji’s mother. Please, have a seat.”
Gestured before her, the woman and her daughter settle down closely next to each other. Minjeong catches a glimpse of Minji wagging her dangling legs above the seat, then returning her gaze to her horrifyingly still beautiful ex when she finally speaks.
“So, of course, I begin this with a positive start,” Minjeong almost shakes her head but doesn’t because that’s a good thing; she only has to stifle that urge because those words begin to make her reminiscent of their relationship, which started off positively, but then ended negatively, and then positively again, albeit this time it was the pregnancy test being positive.
“Minji's exceptionally well in class. If anything, I dote on her—” Is that a competition Minjeong hears? She dotes on her too; she’s probably better than Jimin, “—she interacts with my lessons often and sometimes with others as well. I’ve established that she’s quite a quick learner. Proven, she’s especially proficient with language and literature, quite exceeding a higher grade level than her peers in that subject.”
Minjeong wheels her head to her, rubbing her back and softly saying good job, Minji-yah, I’m so proud of you to her before turning her steel gaze onto Jimin, prompting her to continue with a little hesitancy, “She’s also still good in social studies, even if her mastery does not match her language and literature counterpart. She’s decent in science—it’s not bad but I believe it could get better. I’m positive we’ll improve it by the end of the year, so I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
“However, I do have some concerns in math,” she breathes out slowly, “she’s not exactly… on par with other students. Just a little behind, I say.”
Minjeong weakly widens her eyes attentively, just a tad bit surprised, though not really. Whenever Minji waffles to her about school, she did take a slight notice that she doesn’t mention anything about mathematics. But it’s not something to be troubled about, at least that’s what Minjeong thinks.
Regardless, Minjeong swings her head back to her beloved daughter again. “Minji-yah, do you want to talk about it? You know Umma and… especially your teacher Ms. Yun is here to help you right?”
Minji still sits in silence, legs already not kicking, only responding with a pout on her lips.
“It’s okay baby, you don’t have to say anything right now.” She pats her back one more time before her gaze latches back to Jimin’s, eyes in refusal to dish out the same look she just gave to her precious kid. “So, um, Ms. Yun—”
“Yu,” she corrects, a short hesitant beat pulsing through the air before adding, “though, I wouldn’t mind if it’s Jimin.”
Minjeong somehow still has the strength to maintain eye contact, nodding and silently swallowing the urge to mock the hell out of her for that. “Right,” she draws slowly, squinting at the older woman, “Yu…”
She wants to cleanse her palate clean from what she just uttered. It feels like she just swore. But the taste could’ve been worse if she had said her first name.
The taste of the lingering word on her tongue sidetracks her thoughts for a second until her chorus of thoughts strikes back to her. “Okay, Ms. Yu, ” she enunciates, coming forward with a still narrowed gaze, and Jimin mirrors her, leaning closer to Minjeong.
“Hm?”
Since she drew closer for whatever reason, she’s going to hear this articulately.
A beat.
Actually, no she isn’t. “Ah, never mind.”
“No, say it.”
Excuse her for making a demand to Minjeong. That’s so rude.
“Okay fine. I was going to ask if you still tutor but the real question is—are you even a good teacher?”
“I would hope so. If not, I would wonder why there’s a lot of people paying me to tutor them.” She tilts her head, eyes on her unwavering. “Why? Do you want me to tutor Minji?”
Minjeong combs the threads of her short hair with her fingers. “You’re her literal assigned teacher in school and if she’s behind in math then it makes me doubt if you can teach her.”
“Wouldn’t that give more of a reason for me to tutor her personally as she’s behind?” She tightens their proximity when she inclines her lean forward, and Minjeong notices. “And you’re right. I do teach her, but so do I with twenty other students. If I do one-on-one I can properly evaluate her weakness, match her learning style, etcetera much more thoroughly.”
“Yeah… no thanks. I’ll just teach her myself. I’m not paying for your stupid tutoring package.”
She frowns, and Minjeong silently cherishes her mouth warping into a dip. “And who says you will have to pay?” She quizzes, cocking an eyebrow. “Almost two hundred students. Each session costing two million won minimum. But really there’s no cost for you.”
The words dangle in the air, and now it’s Minjeong’s turn to cock her eyebrow. She senses a catch, and her ex proves her hunch by saying, “Rather… Just a date. You and me.”
If she was drinking water, Minjeong would’ve choked or spat it out at that moment, so she supposes she’s thankful that she isn’t. Her eyebrows pucker from her words, eyes already enlarged from the sentence, and Jimin witnessing this, is prompted to continue. “The bill’s on me, of course.”
“That’s totally inappropriate.” She whispers, scandalized.
Her cheeks are definitely tinted with a red blush right now, feeling her face being feverishly hotter than usual, all from the ridiculous audacity this woman has to propose a date as a way of payment despite initiating their breaking up. Or, it could merely just be the thought of a date with the woman. She hopes it’s the former, though she feels in her heart that it’s unfortunately not likely.
Minji’s gorgeous teacher anchors an arm on the table, palm cupping her cheek. “I mean, if you prefer the other way, it’s always available.”
Minjeong looks away in other hopes that the older woman does not witness her flushed face, heedful of how it isn’t fading away. “Excuse me, Ms. Yang, I truly don’t have interest in your tutoring programs,” she bites her lip, cutting out the nor you that she would’ve added at the end, because doing so wouldn’t be appropriate here.
She huffs a breath out, “I see,” Jimin mutters with a pout, and it’s so, so reminiscent of Minji’s pouting. It almost successfully pulls Minjeong’s heartstrings until she has to consciously remind herself who her ex is and why she possesses the grudge she has against her.
Jimin hooks and hoists her phone up, time flashing on her little monitor, provoking her to stand up, and Minjeong laggingly mirrors her.
Internally, every fiber of her being rejoice and cheers because she knows this is the end of the meeting; her mind urges her to leave. But at the same time, her heart stalls, and her body is swayed by it, lingering and clinging to every second until then, serving under the guise that she swears Jimin is going to give or say something important, the belief being solidified when she puts her glasses on, writing down matters on documents.
Minji tugs her jacket, breaking Minjeong’s stare and she glances down at her, the sight of her daughter gentling her gaze. “Umma, are we leaving?”
“Yes, sweetie. You can get ready and say bye to Ms. Yang.”
She steps down, swaying her hands goodbye. “Bye, Seonsaengnim!”
“Bye, Minji,” she waves back, finishing a few slithers of her pen before locking her gaze with Minjeong. “And it’s Yu,” she recites, again, tone still soft nonetheless.
She sighs. “Well, do you have any other questions before we wrap this up?” Her tone faintly insinuates more than just anything school-related, hatching an opening for Minjeong to let go of the copious amounts of wonders she has in her mind — ranging from six year old inquiries to recently formulated ones.
But she’s suddenly picky with which question under her mental logs to send out first, and then ultimately after debating, her mind shuts it all off and her mouth simply says, “No.”
So much for creating and mentally searching through an abundant amount of questions last night.
Jimin tears a small slice of the paper, using it to write down what seems to be a series of numbers stringed together. After finishing, she hands it to her.
“Here’s my number if you haven’t had it already. You can reach out to me to ask me anything concerning Minji, or, anything else.” Her eyes flicker and glance at her as she dispatches the last words and much to Minjeong’s dismay, she is already watching her, so when their orbs clash they lock a stare.
Minjeong flutters her eyelashes before gaining awareness from her blinks and breaking it.
“Right. Okay, thank you, Ms. Yeom.” She says, grasping the paper. She steps back, and turns her head to the door, beginning her exit before Jimin can correct her again, like she always had.
Following behind Minji, her steps are still slinging with weight, each one feeling heavier than the last, but this time Minjeong knows it’s not the pit of her stomach’s doing.
Rather her heart.
She wishes that her feet could wriggle free from the anchors secured by her heart, just to scurry away. But of course, it can’t and doesn’t, remaining chained to her as if telling her to hold on and wait a bit for something the woman doesn’t consciously know. Then, she becomes aware of what it is when she hears the familiar call from her symphonic voice again.
“Minjeong-ah,” she calls from behind, “on an actual note, I’m glad to see you again.”
Her throat itches to let out a wry laugh. But instead, she hums. It's the most she can do. It was either — as a response — to punch her with her fist on the spot or punch her with a kiss on the spot. To hum is not only — and unfortunately — one of the few appropriate responses, but it’s also one that can compromise on both choices.
When her sluggish steps finally reach the edge of the exit, the invisible anchor vanishes.
And so she leaves.
When the next day comes, her body lands itself back in her home’s office room.
Her hand wraps around the sheets of listing preparations, lining them near another stubby stack of paper. Her eyes line up to her laptop, tabs sprayed everywhere. It’s been established; she’s going to be physically occupied for — minimum — a week with her job’s duties, but mentally, all of what’s occupied in that headspace is Minji.
Minji… that girl needs to catch up in her mathematics.
But shit.
She’s really not available to teach her at this moment.
It's not the best idea to let any grains of time fly past her grasp and yet continue to have Minji clueless over the subject of math. If she doesn't tackle the topic now or soon, her math issue will accumulate, bunching up a plethora of math topics to handle, which obviously, isn't desired.
Minjeong almost cups her face with her hands, crushed by this potential dilemma, but then she realizes she could ask her parents to teach Minji on her behalf.
It’s not like it’s an idea without merit. When Minji was born, they took nearly all the care of her while Minjeong was busy being the primary earner with her previous job as an office worker. As she was under their charge, being with her parents, they taught her as an alternative for pre-school; letting Minji follow the same steps that Minjeong had gone through.
The only separate thing that divides their experiences differently is that, back then, Minjeong’s parents didn’t have much of a luxury to thrust her into pre-school, and being that preschool was an optional matter, they decided to settle for the cheaper option which was to personally teach her instead. Being that the topics Minjeong learned were quite valuable, and adding on to other lists from how her parents should create as many memories with their granddaughter and how (even when Minjeong is financially stable) Minjeong still possesses financial prudence — it influenced Minjeong’s choice to let Minji stay with her parents to undergo the same thing.
Minjeong knocks on her parents’ room, signaling her presence before opening it, and as expected, they’re awake.
“Oh, Umma, Appa, I’m going to be busy with work this week, but could you possibly teach Minji? Yesterday I went to her parent-teacher conference and the teacher…” she pauses, mind and possibly face cringing from the thought of her ex — Yu Jimin, before urging herself to continue, “..they said she’s a bit behind in math.”
“Of course,” her mom says gleefully, and her dad weakly but affirmingly smiles at her, crinkles folding along his eyes.
And she slips out of the room, choosing not to let them exhaust more of their energy with yapping and to also return back to work.
But maybe she shouldn’t have interrupted her work trance with her request because now her mind is preoccupied with Yu Jimin.
Minjeong tries to shake that buzzing thought of her away, forcibly drowning herself with her computer screen and sheets of documents, but of course, still like a mosquito, she lingers around. The most she can do is operate around it, only muffling her in the woman’s noggin by a slight.
‘You can reach out to me to ask me anything concerning Minji, or, anything else,’ she says, the sentence imprinted in her mind, and it’s probably because she could possibly use her help if all is not well with personal home teaching, though she hopes not.
It’s not the only words she remembers by heart. She recalls and can recite the same lines Jimin had drunkenly said to her that night to break up, just before swiftly leaving her dorm, but Minjeong has always chosen to deliberately steer away from musing over them because it can agitate her with a sting.
Minjeong plops her arm on the table, her hand supporting her head. She wants and is trying to dethrone the thought of her with persistence in her work. And yet, several hours have coursed through but her ex is still droning in the back of her skull, even with work effort, even when she drove Minji back home.
Now Minjeong just wants to let out an exasperated breath.
And even after a week, the urge to let out that breath persists, this urge being supplemented when her parents admit that they’re genuinely struggling to teach Minji math.
Fortunately, Minjeong had finished catching up with her work, so she could now teach her topics under math that she finds difficulty in, and even bond with her in the process. But when she asks Minji what math topics is it that she’s struggling with, she hesitantly states she doesn’t know, which is surmountable with the help of the internet. But now she’s unfortunately distracted, letting her gaze wander around anything but Minjeong’s lesson.
“Minji-yah, pay attention,” she demands, snapping her gaze back at her.
Her face deflates, eyes now attaching back to her hand gestures and illustrating visuals throughout the lesson. Minjeong would think that’s good, but then she notices Minji gradually frowning, frown as similar to her other mom, Minjeong internally comments. Nevertheless, she continues to watch the lesson and hears her lecture, but eventually breaks engagement with a loud groan.
“Seonsaengnim teaches bettterrrr,” she whines.
Oh no. Guess the apple does not fall far from the tree — she got charmed by her with her gifted teaching skills and personality. Hearing that, Minjeong just wanted to crumble herself into a ball and scream, ‘Not you too!’ but she’s stronger than that and instead says, “Oh yeah? And how does she teach?”
She asks as if she has never been taught by that woman in her entire life. Truth be told, Jimin taught her for most of her school years. She can’t discredit her on that. The way she teaches is so elaborate and comprehensible.
But it’s been years since Jimin last tutored her, and she doesn’t think she could replicate her teaching style in catering for Minji. She doesn’t even know if her teaching style has shifted. And that itself, paired with Minji’s whining, supports the idea that maybe, just perhaps, she should get Jimin to tutor her.
“I dunnoooo,” she whines again.
She pats her head, fixing the loose strands of her hair gliding her hand down.
“Minji-yah, you can’t only rely on her for learning,” she says softly after a minute.
And then she sighs.
She initially thought it wouldn’t be much trouble when Jimin told her that Minji was struggling in math, but now, that thought is just reconfiguring into concern. If Minji’s grandparents can’t teach her, and neither can her mother, then is this circumstance truly narrowed down to one choice — one solution?
Just the thought of the final option sinks her back into the spiral of reasons supporting this ultimate option. From one, Minji’s wise soul of grandparents couldn’t really help her; two, Jimin has more experience in teaching than Minjeong ever does; three, her teaching is comprehensible and good (so there’s no doubt that Minji is lying); and several others, the head reason being one that Minjeong refuses to acknowledge though her heart does.
Ruminating over the reasons strengthens the spiral, pulling her in even more intensely, telling her to get her phone out to reference that small, ripped paper and punch the still freshly woven numbers in. To give in, with the trade of her pride and dignity. To give in, with the trade of Minji receiving a thorough and even greater education.
The circumstances are sketched in stupid Yu Jimin's favor, Minjeong thinks, thought erupting after she tells her daughter to wait in the room for a second. More intricately, it’s like Minjeong has used her luck all up and the universe declared she was too greedy to hold on for more — passing it down to Jimin as compensation for, she supposes, Minjeong driving away from her in her car.
Whatever, Minjeong exhales, tapping the numbers away into exhibition on her phone, glancing back and forth between that hand and the other one holding the split sheet.
It’s for several good reasons, Minjeong consciously chimes in her head, mantra echoing through her body.
And it ceases when the call finally connects.