I Will Find You - Chapter Five

Ji-young opened her eyes, not feeling tired for the first time in the month since futilely attempting to go back to Joseon. She stared at her bedroom ceiling for a while, then turned her head toward her nightstand. Again, for the first time in a month, her heart didn’t constrict painfully at seeing his journal there.

She figured, with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension, the worst was over.

She’d spent the last month in a sort of a fugue state, her occasional forays out of bed blurry. She just hadn’t had the strength or will to do anything; she had barely functioned. Things had apparently gotten so bad, her father had temporarily moved back in with her.

They hadn’t lived together since she’d graduated and Dad had moved into an apartment downtown, closer to the university, while she’d stayed in the beautifully restored hanok her grandmother had left her. Even when she’d been in Paris for a year, he’d only pop up weekly to air, dust, and water her plants. For him to move back in...

“Well, it’s over now,” she said decisively as she made for the bathroom. “Time to go back to the living, I guess.”

The first sight that greeted her when she slid open her bedroom door was her dad, harried and tired-looking, with a tray in his hand.

“Ji-young,” he whispered, his mouth curling into a smile. A good sign—she must’ve looked better than she felt.

“Hey,” she said, answering his smile with her own.

He quickly placed the tray on the sideboard and pulled her into a hug. “Are you okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“That’s a father’s job.” He stepped back a little, holding her shoulders, looking at her. “What happened?”

She blinked to keep tears at bay. He would never believe her if she told him. He’d probably have her committed. Who would blame him? “I guess I was just a little tired. But I’m better now, I promise. So much better, in fact, I’m in need of a shower.”

He stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to read her mind, then nodded and grinned. “Good. You need it. And if you need to talk...about anything. I’m here.”

She nodded.

“Good.” He sighed, eyeing the tray. “Now, how about something to eat?” Her belly answered for her, and he chuckled. “You get that shower, and I’ll cook.”

One long, hot shower later, she was feeling human again. Dressed in her favorite pair of jeans gone buttery-soft through the years of wear and a short-sleeved turtleneck, she pulled her hair into a low ponytail and completed her usual morning ritual by carefully applying moisturizer, SPF, and makeup.

The makeup was her armor, her facade, her own personal cheoyongmu mask. The merry grin hiding the truth of what lay beneath.

It was a routine, calming and reassuring, and she sighed. The period of deep mourning was over; there was no point in wallowing. He was gone, beyond her reach. She’d mourned him, them, and what might’ve been, but it was time to rejoin life. That didn’t mean she’d forgotten him—she’ll never forget him, and she suspected she might love him forever—but life went on, no matter what. The pain was still there, the regret, but it had lessened into bearable territory.

She grimaced. And if she repeated that long enough, she just might start believing it.

With one last glance in the mirror, she untied her hair, tucked the long strands behind her ears, and went to join her father in the kitchen.

She was greeted by his large smile and a steaming bowl of jeonbokjuk, a hearty abalone porridge he always made her when she was sick. If only he knew her ailment wasn’t physical, he’d probably make her doenjang pasta.

It was better he didn’t know. She might crack if he put a bowl of pasta in front of her.

“Smells good,” she offered with a smile. It did. And she was surprisingly hungry.

He stared at her the entire time she was eating. And some more as she went for seconds. When she leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, he cleared his throat. “Paris has been calling.”

“Oh?”

Paris. That seemed like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago.

“I called them when you were in the hospital to let them know. And then when you woke up, because I thought—” He shook his head. “Well, they’ve been calling to know when you’re coming back. The job’s still waiting for you.”

Ji-young looked down at her hands, clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles had turned white, guilt gnawing at her insides. “I’m...” She swallowed. “I’m not...” She looked up at him and grimaced. He’d sacrificed so much for her to be able to achieve her dream of becoming a chef, and now she was about to throw it all away. “I’m not going back.”

Her heart was no longer in it. 

“I’m not really thinking about going back to cooking.”

Funny how things can change in the blink of an eye. Before, she strove to be the best, to prove herself out of a misguided drive to be better than anyone, to get the coveted prize, and to get a star. And it was her stay in Joseon, having to adapt to the somewhat primitive conditions of the past, experimenting with different ingredients, using the knowledge she’d gained in her blind ambition to rise through the culinary ranks to create new and unique dishes that made people feel better, brought back long-lost memories...

Despite all the hardships, she’d rediscovered her love of food in Joseon. Not for fame or being the best, but because she enjoyed cooking it, she enjoyed serving it, she loved seeing him—

She blinked back tears. The one person who made her want to be a better chef was no longer by her side, no longer there to push her to excel. Her reason to enjoy cooking has been dead for 500 years.

“Understood.” Her father’s voice pulled her out of the darkness that once more threatened to overwhelm her. “Are you going to call them, or shall I?”

She smiled slightly. That was her dad. He never pushed for explanations; he simply trusted her judgment. “No, it has to be me. It’s only fair.”

He nodded. “As you wish. Later, if you’re up to it, we can go to the market together. What do you say? Mrs. Joo’s been asking about you. Apparently her grandson just got divorced.”

She shook her head. Good old Mrs. Joo, still trying to set her up. “How many times already? I lost count.” She echoed her father’s chuckle, then checked the wall clock and did some mental math. “It’s morning in Paris, might as well call them and get it over with.”

“You might want to do that in the courtyard,” her father proposed. “Some sun would do you good.”

She smiled. “My immune system could use some vitamin D.” She kissed him on the cheek, peeked out the window, and chuckled as she noticed he’d already arranged her wooden folding furniture set on the decorative gravel in the middle of her courtyard.

She quickly grabbed her laptop and phone, slid her bare feet into her old foam clogs, and parked it on one of the chairs while dialing Paris. It wasn’t hard finding the number; they’d been calling a lot. She braced herself.

“Allô? Bonjour, Yeon Ji-young à l'appareil.”

Surprisingly, it had all gone well. No hard feelings and a promise of a position if she changed her mind in the future later, she tackled her inbox filled mostly by messages from Epicure and La Poêle D'Or competition staff and congratulatory e-mails.

Just as she was done deleting, reading, and sorting, a ping announced a new message. It was from her old university buddy Kim Ji-hu. Thinking it was an invitation to a reunion, she almost deleted it, but something stopped her. Made her read it.

It turned out to really be an invitation. But instead of a reunion, he was inviting her for a meal in the restaurant he was managing.