Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(24)

She glanced between the two giant bundles, then let out a sigh as she held the door open.

“You can put them there.” She pointed at the floor of the foyer. “I’m going to put Doojoon down. It’s nap time.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and disappeared into a side room.

Jihoon stood in the entryway, refusing to step farther without being invited. The apartment was pristine, the living room larger than the small apartment Jihoon shared with his halmeoni. A family portrait hung prominently. A man with a square jaw held Jihoon’s mother from behind, and in her arms lay baby Doojoon.

They looked perfect and happy. The way a young family should. Jihoon had never seen a picture of him with both of his parents. Halmeoni said his mother threw them all out.

His mother emerged and gestured at the containers. “What did she send this time?”

“Kimchi,” Jihoon replied, but her disdain wasn’t lost on him. “Leftovers from the restaurant,” he added. He would die before he told her Halmeoni meticulously seasoned it all day for her.

“Doojoonie’s appa doesn’t like spicy things. Why did she make so much?”

Jihoon clenched his teeth to hold in his frustration. “I delivered it. Don’t forget to tell Halmeoni if she calls you.”

“Your halmeoni let you leave the house like that? It’s about to rain, you don’t even have a jacket.”

Her tone reeked of judgment, yet his traitorous mind overlooked it. She was worried about him going out in the rain. That meant she cared, right?

“I’m fine,” he whispered. If he spoke any louder, his voice would crack.

“Wait there.” She disappeared into the back room and emerged with a bag of clothes. She pulled out a long trench coat. “We were going to donate these, but you can have them.”

Jihoon glared. The clothes were obviously those of a middle-aged man.

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. They’re name brands.”

Jihoon was about to tell her what she could do with her name brands when a door opened down the hall. A halmeoni shuffled out. She wore a floral housecoat, her hair up in rollers. The thin wisps around the curlers were onyx black. A color that only came out of a box. When she spotted Jihoon, she stopped.

“Doojoon’s eomma, who is this?” the halmeoni asked.

Doojoon’s eomma. The title swam through Jihoon’s head. It wasn’t new to him. He’d heard many of his friends’ mothers addressed as such by neighbors or teachers. But he’d never had the opportunity to hear his own mother called Jihoon’s eomma. And now she was Doojoon’s eomma. It served to show she really wasn’t his mother anymore.

“Eomeonim,” she addressed her mother-in-law. “He’s a delivery boy. He brought kimchi. I thought I’d make kimchi jjigae with it tonight.”

Jihoon almost laughed at her easy lie.

“Kimchi jjigae gives me heartburn.” The old woman rubbed a hand over her chest. “When is my son coming home?”

“He should be here soon.” Jihoon’s mother wrung her hands, her eyes darting between him and her mother-in-law.

Jihoon wanted to laugh, to shout, to punch a wall. So he decided it best to leave.

“Thank you for your business,” he said with a bow.

“Wait, young man,” the halmeoni commanded, a person used to being obeyed. His manners stopped him from dashing out.

“Here.” She held out two green bills.

This time, the beginning of a laugh did escape and he covered it with a cough. He caught the mortified look on his mother’s face. Maybe that’s why he took the 20,000 won before bending in a deep bow.

As he left, the door closed behind him and locked with a beep.



* * *



? ? ?

Back on the bus, Jihoon rested his forehead against the cool glass, exhausted. His very bones felt tired. In fact, they didn’t feel like bones at all, but brittle sticks unable to hold his body up any longer.

He’d wanted his mother to tell her new family the truth. That Jihoon was her son and she wasn’t embarrassed to claim him. Yet that wasn’t what upset him the most. What he couldn’t get over was the sight of her cradling the baby so gently. How she’d glanced affectionately at him. There’d been a maternal love in her eyes that Jihoon couldn’t recall from his own childhood. What did that mean about Jihoon that his own mother couldn’t love him the way she loved her new child?

When it began to rain, the window fogged. A matching haze filled his vision from the gathering of unshed tears. He blinked them away, refusing to let a single one fall for that woman.

As soon as Jihoon stepped off the bus, the rain drenched him. His clothes stuck to his skin and goose bumps rose along his bare arms. He thought fleetingly of the bag full of coats. No, he’d rather freeze to death than wear that man’s cast-off clothing.

Reluctant to go home just yet, he sat on the bench under the bus shelter.

He pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Changwan, thinking a trip to the PC room would clear his bad mood. He watched the blank screen, willing it to light with a response. When it didn’t, he swiped to his contacts and clicked on Somin’s number. It rang a full minute before she picked up.

“Hello?” Somin yelled over the clashing sound of crowds in the background.