Toward the Walk of Shame

24 {Sehun}

My mind was still stuck on Suzy when I pulled into the garage that afternoon. Her face. They way she hadn't even looked at me when she mumbled goodbye and ran into her house after the aquarium. Something was wrong. Something more than Korea Uni. Law School. It killed me that I didn't know what it was. That she didn't trust enough to tell me. And that I couldn't fix it for her.

I grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and headed toward the stairs when something in the dark corner of the living room caught my attention. The hairs on my neck stood up. I was always the first person home. Every day.

I grabbed the closest thing - Eomma's floral umbrella- and slowly step into the room. Then I used my elbow to flick on the light and jumped forward. My right hand waved the umbrella in the air like a sword.

Eomma shrank back into the armchair. Her wide eyes stared at me while both hand clutched at her chest. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, hi." I dropped my arm and coughed with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't know you were there. I'll just - let me put this back." I placed the umbrella back in its stand. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Her hands fell to the cushions on either of her. She looked around the room as though she didn't know herself. "I was just thinking about things while waiting for you."

"For me?"

I waited for her to continue, but she didn't. Instead she reached out to organize the books, magazines, coasters on the table. They were the kind you can put pictures in. There were some with Eomma and me and some with Eomma and Mark. None of us together. There was no point in forcing the family label on us when we weren't one.

"I want you to understand how glad I was that Mark came into our lives. He's not perfect, but life with him is. He's reliable, and he takes care of us. And he puts me first. He makes my life easy. Even if that means cutting your dad out of our lives." Eomma smoothed the wrinkles in her dress before standing up and pulling out a piece of paper in her dress pocket. "But that wasn't my decision to make. It should have been yours. So here."

The paper was barely three inches wide and had a long, ragged tear on one side. Some numbers were written on it, squished together. A bank account? "What's this?"

"That's your dad's number."

Bam! And just like that, I slumped down onto the couch across from her. I clenched the paper so hard, it crumpled in my hand. "I thought you didn't want me to contact him."

"I didn't. I still don't." Eomma crossed her arms and looked away. She bit the inside of her cheek. "I just don't want you to hate me for it later on. And you're right. It's your choice whether you want to see him or not."

Her sad tone nearly killed me. Judging by the dark circles under eyes, this had been bothering her for a while. And the slight indention in the armchair cushion that refused to go away showed that she had been waiting for me for a pretty long time.

I was a shitty example of a son. The worst ever.

"Eomma," I stood up when she headed toward the kitchen. She paused, and her shoulders stiffened. I swallowed and shook my head, even though she didn't see me. "If you never gave me his number, I wouldn't blame you. Yeah, I was a little mad for a while, but I wouldn't hate you. I can't."

Eomma finally turned around. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but I wasn't worried. She cried over everything. Once she cried because the neighbor's dog died. And she hated that dog, said it barked at her every time she came home. That didn't stop her from crying for an hour when it got run over, though.

Besides, the broad smile on her face as she walked toward me was a big indication that everything was better now.

She had to tiptoe to kiss my cheek, something she hadn't done in years. I hadn't noticed how small she was now. Or how much taller than her I was. "Just go do what you have to do. I'll call you down when dinner's ready."

I nodded. Now that the crisis was over, I barely even noticed when she left the room. My eyes were stuck on the numbers in my hand. Ten digits. Something small and simple that children were learning. Yet now it seemed like the most important thing in the world to me.

My footsteps went up the stairs as I ran to my room. I dropped my backpack and paced. Back and forth. Should I call now? Maybe I should wait. Jeju Island was in the same time zone as Busan (or at least I think so), so he was probably getting ready to eat dinner, too. Now might not be the most convenient time to call.

But when was a good time to call and say, "Hey, Appa. Remember me? Your son that you haven't talked to in years? It wasn't either of our choices, though. So what's up?"

What was I going to say to him?

As I stared at the little piece of paper, I could hear Suzy's voice in my head. And not in a very good way. Okay, she was yelling at me to stop being a crybaby and just dial the number. And she was right.

Still, my hands shook as I pressed in the numbers. I could feel myself getting sick from clenching and twisting of my stomach. That feeling grew with each ring.

"Hello?"

There it was. The voice I hadn't heard in over seven years.

And just like that, my nervousness disappeared. Like nothing had ever happened. I was eleven again, waiting for him to come home from work so we could go to the aquarium.

"Hi, Appa."