Epilogue 3.2

Epilogue 3.2

Miran worried that once she left for New York, Juran might fall behind the times.

“Mom, I’ll teach you how to use the computer, so keep about three hours free this weekend.”

Juran recoiled in horror and waved her hands.

“Oh no, forget it! What would I even do with a computer? Besides, my boss already said he’d teach me. And I’m comfortable doing everything by hand.”

“Mom, do you think this is the 80s? When I leave for New York, are you planning to go to the post office every month to send letters? It takes two months just for the mail to go back and forth. When I went abroad for language study, every time I called you, you’d rush me off the phone because the charges were too high. But email and chat are free. And fast. And no matter how far apart we are, if we can talk often…”

Miran’s voice suddenly tightened, and she reached for the cup of barley tea.

Marrying Andre meant spending the rest of her life far away from Juran, on the other side of the world.

After taking a sip, she steadied herself and continued.

“It’ll make everything so much more bearable.”

“……”

Juran lowered her head and silently took another spoonful of rice.

“It’s easier than you think. You’re smart, Mom. You’ll probably learn faster than I did.”

Miran joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“But why is he still ‘the boss’? The day after tomorrow he’ll be your husband. Calling him hoooney, or Jeongseok, isn’t that hard, is it?”

When she teased her, Juran finally lifted her head. Her eyes glistened as she shot Miran a sharp look.

“You little rascal, always teasing your mother whenever you get the chance! Hurry up and eat before the stew gets cold.”

Just then, the theme song of a drama drifted from the TV, and both mother and daughter turned their heads at the same time.

It was a preview for next week’s episode of the Monday–Tuesday drama Star in My Heart, which had just begun airing. Even during training, Miran made sure to watch it; otherwise, she couldn’t join the conversations with her classmates the next day.

“That one’s the best drama on TV these days.”

“Right? How can Choi Jinsil be that pretty and adorable?”

When Juran marveled, Miran stuck out her lips.

“And here I thought I was the prettiest and most adorable.”

At that, gentle wrinkles formed at the corners of Juran’s eyes as she turned from the TV.

“Well of course. Whose daughter do you think you are? Our Kang Miran is much prettier and more adorable than Choi Jinsil.”

—

The training flight from Gimpo to New York was what they called an Add (short for additional crew or add-on ride), a hitch ride taken for practical training. She could sit in a seat, but not sleep; she had to observe the senior crew, learn the procedures, and write up a flight log.

Because the flight to New York was full and they were short-staffed, the manager assigned Miran and another trainee to help with the meal service. Her job was to push the cart, take out the inflight meal trays that passengers ordered, and hand them to her senior.

After finishing her first meal service with every nerve pulled tight, Miran returned to the galley and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She couldn’t even remember how time had passed. She hadn’t made any big mistakes, thankfully, but she had been so tense that her lower stomach ached faintly.

‘What do I do? How am I supposed to tell the manager and slip away later…?’

Once they checked into the hotel in Midtown, they were expected to eat together, shop together, and move as a group. They said managers paid especially close attention to trainees on OJT flights to prevent any accidents.

It was an unspoken rule that flight attendants quit once they married or became pregnant. That was why the average career length for flight attendants was barely two years.

So as a trainee, she couldn’t just casually mention that she was engaged. She needed to keep working until she received her spouse visa and moved to the United States.

If she admitted she had a fiancé, the questions would be endless. What does he do, how old is he, where does he live. They would pry into everything.

And if they found out he was foreign, she worried they might look at her with prejudice. She had already been called awful things like yanggongju* and high-class escort during the time she’d been seeing André. She had every reason to be careful.

*Yanggongju (Western Princess) refers to Korean women who engaged in sex work for U.S. military personnel stationed in South Korea,

While she wavered back and forth, the plane arrived at JFK Airport. Because the gate was congested, they had to wait about twenty minutes on board.

Thanks to her flight attendant visa, Miran cleared immigration fairly quickly. She joined the end of the line behind the senior crew, following them with a tense, upright posture.

This was her third time at JFK, so the hectic arrivals hall felt oddly familiar.

‘Last time André was waiting right over there.’

Stepping out of the exit, Miran glanced at the metal barrier crowded with greeters, then hurried her pace. Just then, she froze and turned toward the spot where her gaze had snagged.

A tall man, his head sticking up above the crowd, was giving her a faint smile.

“…André?”