#serenada

Lunch table is set on a beautiful Friday. While your eldest is attending his piano lessons, you only have your four year old baby girl with you at home. Stir-fried beef, steamed broccoli and potatoes with peppers, sliced kimchi and fried anchovies. Pretty simple set up for today. If you knew he was going to be home, you would have bought some chicken, but you know he's not the kind to complaint about what you place on the table for him. Setting the final side bowl of soybean paste soup with beansprouts, you get to your daughter’s eye-level and told her,

"Call dad to come eat..." you say gently, word-by-word, "'Dad, let's eat...' like that." She nodded enthusiastically.

"Knock first..." you reminded her with a smile. You know that he loves listening to the little one calling him that. Its rare and it makes him happy. The little big happiness in life, he said.  

The little one did as told. Curling her little fingers and knuckles barely touching the door to Namjoon's studio door. She is tall enough to twist the knob on her tip toes but she didn't do that. She repeated the phrase you taught her twice, but no answer. Curious, you came and join her, twist the knob open to see Namjoon sitting in his chair turned away from the door. His hand on the phone pressed against his ear, he glances over his shoulder and waved his hand to shoo you and your daughter away. It seemed to be an important call. With that stern look in his eye, you're sure to shut the door before you leave. The little one pouted. As she waddled to the dining table before you, she kept her head down.

"Dad is a little busy, he'll eat later... we could eat first," you rubbed her back and carried her on her chair. She can feed herself although slightly sloppy, she was eating very well. She glances at Namjoon's empty bowl from time to time. Because you're very keen, you asked her why. She answered, "Dad's going to be very hungry later. Working, working, always working."

"Dad needs to pay the bills to keep the roof above our head, so daddy's not going to be here often but mama hopes you'll forgive him for being that way? He's trying so hard..."

"I miss dad..." She said.

A few hours later, you took your baby girl to fetch her older brother from piano lesson. Koya, the nickname his dad got him, climbed into the car looking drained. You looked at him through the rear view mirror and beamed at him, but he didn't reply the same enthusiasm.

"How was class, darling?" "I advanced to Grade 7 now, there's placement exam next week..." "Oh, that's amazing. Remember to tell dad later!"

You turned the wipers on because it began to drizzle, your son didn't respond immediately after you told him to tell his dad. And when he did, your heart breaks.

"Why? He's not coming anyways."

Not wanting to drag the sadness, you turned the blinkers to the city instead of the road home. Koya, one who remembers the direction exceptionally well notices this. He swivels his head around to see the hanging bridge you were supposed to use, getting farther and farther away. "Mama? Our house is that way....."

"Home is cancelled. We're getting ice cream." "But it's raining." "Exactly." "Yay! Ice cream!" The youngest one exclaimed.

That was the biggest smile you had seen on her face all day. Your son was confused, but he will retaliate soon. He's such a big loser when it comes to sweet things and he got that from his father, obviously. Parking by the convenient store, you sat on the table with the view outside the street. Next to you is Koya and his little sister, all eating different kinds of ice cream. You wanted something sour, Koya wants the strawberry one and the youngest prefers vanilla.

Passing behind you, an elder woman scoffs, "Why are you feeding your children ice cream on a rainy cold day. They're going to get ill." Koya turns around and spat, "Ice creams makes mama happy. What's wrong with being happy?"

You bowed and wore a stricken smile on your face. The old lady scurried along with her things before returning to buy an ice cream herself.

"Koya,"  you called. His heavy glasses runs down half of his face but he answers, "Hmm?"

"Do you hate Dad?" "I don't hate him. I just want him to be more like dads. Making money is not everything..." "Money? Is that what he told you?" "Yeah, that time is money. With each time taken away from us, he is making money. That's what he said. I checked dad's net worth the other day and I calculated that he makes roughly, 6.78 dollars an hour." "Koya, how did you..." you frowned but shakes your head, "Anyways, dad has always been busy. We should be more understanding, that's what I think. That's what mama thinks."

Just then, your baby girl froze. Koya checks on her, "You okay?" She giggles and her lips are trembling, "Yes, my brain poof." "You mean, brain freeze?" Koya puffed his cheeks.

Driving home, Namjoon still left his bowl undisturbed. You have to talk to him. Somehow. Koya showered, and then your girl, and then they're tucked in bed. As the night progresses, the lonelier you became. Now that your kids are in bed and sleeping, the house is quieter. You hated it. Listening to Koya not wanting to tell Namjoon that he has advanced piano exams soon, and your girl mumbling how she misses her dad had made you upset that when you staring at the night sky through the glass door, your visions blurred. You're hugging your leg, sitting on the sofa facing the opened curtains with the lights off, leaning your head on the side, on the cushion.

Namjoon twisted the door knob open, and the hallway is dark, catching him off guard. Did the power outage happen when he's in there? Why didn't anyone notify him? He watched you there, sitting in the dark but didn't think much of it.

"Not asleep yet?" he mumbles to your back as he walked out of the hallway into the kitchen to grab a glass of cold water. "I didn't feel like sleeping yet," you answered simply. "Probably all those coffee you've been having," he shot nonchalantly and walked back into his studio. Your gaze shot to the side, your fingers fiddling with your toe, jaw hanging at the answer your husband gave you. You only caught the view of his back, and his white tees walking away. With a script in your head, you slipped off the couch and walked slowly to his studio.

"Can I talk to you? Can we talk?"

Namjoon swivels his chair around to see you standing by his door frame, crossing your arm. The light from the hallway make you look like you had a halo. He smiled at you but you didn't return the same warmth.

"You didn't eat anything I cook," you shrugged. "I was going to but I got carried away... I was going to, I promise," he said in a hurry, sipping hard on the cold water he took himself. "Namjoon, if you're going to be like this at home, I suggest you don't take your work here," you started off strong. And you know that because Namjoon's expression changed from warmth to confusion.

"Like what? I don't understand... I'm home because you told me to be here more often..." "You're home but you're not... home," your voice breaks, "You're not here."

Taking out a crumpled invitation letter out of your cardigan, and you held them out to place on his desk instead of waiting for him to take them from you.

"There's two of that, one for mom, one for dad. I found yours in the bin," you sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeves. Namjoon remains quiet, but his eyes are receiving every information. He doesn't say anything in rebuttal and for that, you're thankful.

"Your daughter is mad at you, so I don't know how you'll fix this but I wish you would learn that being a father is not just providing financial stability. It's about emotional and physical presence as well. You of all people should know. You taught me that," you moved away, digging your eye sockets with the heels of your palm as you leave your husband to understand what you told him.

With the way you ended the conversation, one-sided conversation, Namjoon knows he's not welcomed in the bedroom that night. It didn't take a genius to to know. When he woke up on his studio couch, unaware that he had slept on his hand instead of the pillow, his shoulders began to strain. When his eyes flutters open, several teddies were lined around him like he was going to be sacrificed in a satanic cult. Then he felt little nails scratching his ankle bone, picking the skins there. His daughter is looking at him through her bangs, with wide brown irises decorating her rosy cheeks and baby bird lips, she is an unsplitting image of you.

He spread his arm open for her and she understood what it meant, and for that, Namjoon is thankful.

"Is Dad working until late night? Are you still tired?"

Namjoon nodded. Suddenly she escapes Namjoon's arms and ran down the hall into her room where her brother Koya is still sleeping soundly. When she comes back, she took a small container full of her vitamin gummy bears and a piggy bank.

"What's this, baby?" he asked groggily. "For your body, so daddy can be strong, like me," she smiled, and a dimple dip on the left side of her cheek. That side is deeper than the right one. And, she pushed the piggy bank next to Namjoon's feet, sitting with her knees folded, "For bills. I saved a lot."

Namjoon was stunned.

"Did you save money so daddy could pay bills?"

She nods, while playing with her customized KAWS doll, "So Dad doesn't have to work all the time and play with mama, with Koya and with me."

Several hours later...

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?" you repeated as you were pushed out the house, all dressed up. Namjoon chuckles, "Yes, mama. Tell mama we're going to be okay without her."

Koya was smiling and the youngest were jumping in place. When you heard, you thought you were dreaming. He said that you should go watch movie, shopping and walk on the seaside while he takes the kids to Everland, the largest theme park in Seoul. Not only that, he wants to take them there, without you. So they could bond. Make up for the lost times. No cooking, no pee checks, just get dressed and enjoy yourself. He wants today with the kids and tomorrow, you can join if you want.

"Okay, behave yourself. Koya, and you, and daddy too. Don't give him a hard time alright? Hold daddy's hands at all times, you understand me?" you warned Koya and the little one, darting your eyes at Namjoon next, "And if you don't answer my text or calls, I will come with a butcher knife."

And that's how you ended at the seaside. Life is not a game. You can't press restart at every mishap even though you wish you could. And remedies don't come immediately or in the form you'd expect them to be. It's okay, but it's not okay--a phrase you've grown accustomed to as the years passed. No matter how many times you repeat the story line, tweak whatever you did in the middle of it, the ending is what fate wants them to be. With Namjoon, things can get a little hazy, sometimes foggy. But you know one thing. That his love is real. Even if he needs to be reminded how to be a person sometimes.

He took a seat next to you on the wooden bleacher while the kids runs around the field, playing with rented bicycles and shrieking in delight. You peeled your eyes away from the kids and stare at your husband's side profile.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he begin. Namjoon blinks to the floor, scratching his forehead, blinking repeatedly. "Honestly, I am so warped with perfection that I fail to see the things around me that are also taking shape," he pressed his lips together and straightening in his seat, "I make a lot of mistakes and I'm learning. There's errors I cannot fix but I'm grateful that you called me out before it becomes permanent."

"What are humans without mistakes..." you scooted closed to him, and leaned your head on his shoulder, "I didn't want you to miss a big part of these children's life. You're maybe the nations' greatest philosophy professor, but you're their father and you're all they have... You're all I have, too. I don't want to fight the world for your attentions, and I don't want my kids to do the same thing I've been doing for years."

Namjoon links his head with yours, looking over your children playing. "I need Kim Namjoon back, my Kim Namjoon," you flutter your eyes shut, feeling safe with his arms around you. He doesn't say a word in reply, but brushes his lips on the crown of your head, and tightening his hold around you. His wedding band shimmering on his laced fingers while yours scratching the materials of his sweater.

"I'll love us better now." He promised.

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