Page 69 of The Secret Of Us

Appa swipes a thumb across my cheek to catch a stray tear before he starts the car. We drive home, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I have my Appa back again.

* * *

Heading back homeafter spending the past few days with Appa feels different this time. There’s a tiny spark of hope that he’ll be walking in alongside me and Mina next time.

As soon as I get through the door, I understand why Appa hadn’t even attempted to decorate his apartment. There’s no way he could replicate the years of pictures framing the walls, the memories that line every room of this house. The kitchen where Mina took her first steps during a summer Sunday breakfast as we all watched, the chip in the wood of the bannister from when I fell down the stairs and managed to bounce off every single one of them.

Even if he did frame some pictures, it wouldn’t be the same as walking into the living room and seeing a picture of my parents on their wedding day, bright hopeful smiles lighting up both of their faces. I look at the two people in the frame and think about how much they’ve grown since then—how they’re still growing now.

I had this warped idea that because my parents were adults, they had everything figured out. But now I realise I don’t think that ever happens for anyone. It’s impossible to never make mistakes, even if you’re a grown-up. I’m learning that the important thing is how we move on from it and how we don’t let it happen again.

I make my way up to my room, my steps feeling lighter than they have in months as I throw my bag down and immediately go back down the stairs.

Eomma’s already in the kitchen making dinner, so I help her with it by getting the table ready while Mina lounges on the sofa. She’s made my favourite dakgalbi, a spicy stir-fried chicken dish I could eat for every meal. I slice up sweet potatoes while she gets the batter ready to fry them. We work in silence, but it’s best to have this conversation now while Mina isn’t in the room.

“I spoke to Appa,” I start, focusing on the knife in my hand as it slices through the potato. “He told me why he left.”

I sneak a glance at Eomma in my peripheral, her hand stilling at my abrupt admission. I keep going.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I haven’t been fair on either of you.”

“You don’t have to apologise, Noah,” she says, placing the fork down on the counter. She puts her hand over mine, silently asking me to stop and look at her, so I do. “We should have explained it to you. We just didn’t want to worry you while you were already going through so much.”

I understand why they didn’t tell me. They probably saw me as volatile after the incident and didn’t want to do anything that would set me off again. But I would have liked to know, instead of Appa just leaving. It could have saved me so many months of blaming myself and feeling terrible about it.

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” she says. “But I hope we can all be back to normal soon.”

I hope so, too.

She puts an arm around my waist, tucking herself into my side as I lift my arm around her shoulders. She gives me a soft squeeze as she speaks.

“We’ll always be your parents, no matter what. I’m sorry we weren’t considerate enough of how you felt about this. From now on, if you want it, we’ll be more open about these things.”

“I’d like that,” I say. “I’ll be better at talking to you guys, too.”

“My wonderful son,” she says before she steps away from me.

My wonderful mother, I think.

She gets right back to cooking, taking the slices of sweet potato from me and coating them in batter before she fries them. When it’s all done, she gets the banchan out of the fridge, and I carry them all to the table and open the containers. I go back for the pan of dakgalbi, placing it in the centre of the table so we can all reach it as Eomma yells up the stairs for Mina to come and eat.

It’s one of the best dinners we’ve had in a long time. There’s no tense silences, the conversation flowing easily as we talk about how school is going. Mina fills us in on the friends she’s made, telling us that she gets on well with pretty much everyone in her class, apart from one boy. It’s the same one she mentioned before who told her about me and Izzy. I definitely need to make sure he’s not giving her a hard time when we get back to school.

“How’s your girlfriend?” Eomma asks, a glint in her eye.

“She’s good,” I tell her, my lips curving up before I can stop them. I bite down on a piece of chicken to stop myself from smiling too widely.

I spend every night on the phone with Izzy. While I was at Appa’s, we didn’t even talk much because I had to be quiet so I didn’t disturb Mina. Instead, we looked at the sky together. We can’t see the stars most of the time, but it’s nice to look at the moon together. I like knowing that we’re looking at the same thing even while we’re far apart.

“Any chance we’ll meet her?”

I hope Eomma’s use of the word ‘we’ stands for her and Appa. The idea of Izzy meeting my parents has my stomach doing flips until I remember that it’s probably never going to happen. There’s only a few months left of school and even less until the end date we’ve set before exams start. If they do meet, it’ll be purely by chance.

“Maybe,” I say, the food suddenly feeling tasteless in my mouth. I move the conversation away from Izzy, not wanting to dwell on my complicated feelings for her. “There’s a trip to France in February.”

“Don’t you want to go to Korea?” Eomma asks, placing some bean sprouts on mine and Mina’s plates.

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