—. . . I’ll never understand it.

—Understand what?

—I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that. Ever.

—What is this child going on about?

I felt like I was about to cry. Quickly, I turned my head. I got up.

—Toilet.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and ran for the toilets. By the time my sanity returned, I found myself inside the wheelchair-accessible stall. I sat down on the toilet and took off my bag. I got out the stack of paper and held it in my hand. The twisted letters of my handwriting on the pages, his handwriting in red imposed over mine in black. I tore them in half, and in half again. I tore each separate piece into still smaller pieces and tossed them into the toilet bowl. The letters touched the water and dyed it red. When I flushed, the layer of paper on the water formed a swirl of confetti and disappeared down the hole.

I used to feel like I’d been given the whole world when I held him.

Like I was holding the whole universe.

Tears welled up but didn’t spill over. There had been plenty of time to cry. I flushed repeatedly until the paper was all gone. Gathering my wits, I picked up my bag once more. I opened the door.

Umma was now lying on the grass and staring up at the sky. She looked incredibly calm. At peace. I wondered if that ninety-nine-pound, fifty-eight-year-old woman staring at the fading firmament was feeling the same way I was feeling. That my life could not be summed up like the neat columns of numbers on a chart, that it could swerve in an unpredictable direction at any time. That the person I thought I knew best just because we had blood ties could actually be the most mysterious and unknown. That there were times in life when you just have to stop holding on. And that was why the only thing I could do now was to cease all thinking, to simply watch her as she smiled and attached meanings to silly things like the rising and setting of the sun. All I could do was await her death. And hope that she would die without having known.

PART THREE

PART THREE

Love in the Big City

1.

Gyu-ho and I decided to go on a trip to Japan together, to commemorate our two-hundred-day anniversary. We pretended to be working in our respective offices while actually composing on a spreadsheet our itinerary for the three-night, four-day trip. Or to be more accurate, I would propose something, and Gyu-ho would automatically agree.

—We’ll go to Asakusa, take pictures with the Doraemon at Odaiba, and do the hot springs in Hakone.

—Sure, sure.

We took so long packing on the day of the trip that we arrived with only minutes to spare at the airport. The queues at security and immigration made me sure we would miss the flight, but thankfully everything was moving fast. Until we presented two passports at the ticketing counter and one came back to us.