Page 10 of The Way Back Home

I lick the popsicle before it drips, orange and sweet and already melting fast in the heat. Mrs. Nam settles back onto the wooden platform with a groan, fanning herself with her hand, and squints at us.

“You two are getting big,” she says. “Are you in grade school yet?”

I nod so hard some of the popsicle juice runs down my wrist. “We’re going into first grade! Mr. Choi’s class.”

Ryowoon doesn’t say anything, he keeps his eyes on his popsicle, but I’ve never had a problem talking enough for the both of us.

“We’re best friends,” I tell her, because it feels important that she knows this, like it’s the most important thing about me. “Just like our dads. My dad and his dad have been best friends since they were kids too, just like us. And guess what else, ajumma? We were born on the same day!”

Mrs. Nam’s mouth curls up at the corner. “Oh, I know that already, little one.”

I blink at her. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” She waves a hand like I’m being silly. “I was the one who helped bring the both of you into this world.”

My jaw drops so far I nearly lose my grip on the popsicle stick. I look over at Ryowoon, but he’s watching her now too, brow furrowed.

“Really?” I ask.

“Really.” She points behind her, toward the little house attached to the store, the one with the blue door and the wind chime hanging just outside it. “Right there. Both of you were born in that back room.”

I stare at the door. “In your house? Why?”

“Because that’s just the way things are,” she says, she sounds tired but a little fond too, remembering. “Not much else around here in the way of hospitals. Nearest one’s clear over in Busan, more than an hour drive, and your mamas didn’t have that kind of time to spare that day.”

She chuckles, shaking her head slowly.

“Your mama,” she says, nodding toward me, “she came stumbling in that morning, just before I opened the shop. Poor thing, could barely catch her breath, gripping onto the counter like she might fall right over. I got her into the back room quick as I could and sent someone running for the midwife. Then that afternoon, wouldn’t you know it, Mrs. Cha showed up too.”

My eyes go wide, glancing over at Ryowoon again, who’s finally looking up now, his popsicle forgotten and starting to drip down his knuckles.

Mrs. Nam nods. “Neighbors carried her over, since I already had the room set up from your mama. It was quite the afternoon, let me tell you. Both women hollering fit to wake the dead, and me running back and forth trying to keep track of who needed what.” She lets out a laugh. “This one here came out first. Screaming like you wouldn’t believe.”

Ryowoon’s ears go pink, and I grin wide with delight.

“And me?” I ask.

“You came just a few minutes after,” she says. “Quieter than him, somehow, though you’ve more than made up for that since.” She reaches out and flicks my nose lightly, and I giggle, wrinkling it.

“But I’ll never forget it,” she continues, leaning forward now, elbows braced on her knees. “Once I got the both of you cleaned up and settled, I laid you down together on a blanket on the floor so I could tend to your mamas. And when I looked back over, wouldn’t you know it, somehow the two of you had gotten one arm free of your swaddles. You’d reached right across and grabbed hold of each other,” she says. “Little fists, wrapped tight around one another’s wrists. Wouldn’t let go either, no matter how I tried to fix your blankets. Had to just leave the two of you like that.”

I turn to look at Ryowoon, amazed, Ryowoon looks a little mystified too.

“See,” she says, tutting and shaking her head, “seems you two were destined to cause trouble together from the very start.”

I beam, so wide my face hurts with it, and reach over without thinking to grab Ryowoon’s hand the same way, like maybe if I do it now it’ll match up with what happened back then. He lets me, just for a second, before pulling his hand back to swipe at the melted popsicle running down his wrist.

Mrs. Nam’s gaze stops on him again, on the bruise still darkening around his eye. Her mouth flattens.

“Better get some ice on that, child,” she says gently.

Ryowoon shrugs, but he doesn’t argue when she gets up with a soft groan, joints creaking, and disappears back into the house. She comes back a minute later with a small towel wrapped around a few ice cubes, pressing it into his hand and folding his fingers around it herself when he doesn’t move to hold it up to his face right away.

“Hold it there,” she says. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He mutters something under his breath but presses it to his eye anyway, wincing at the cold.

We stay in her courtyard until the shadows start stretching long across the stone, until the wind chime’s soft clinking is joined by the sound of crickets starting up in the grass. Mrs. Nam brings out more little snacks throughout the afternoon, roasted chestnuts, slices of pear, wordlessly setting them down between us.