Page 81 of Trust Me

We’re making Kimchi together, in honor of what would have been my halmeoni’s birthday today. It was her favorite dish.

She taught me her secret recipe, and it’s the one I’ve used ever since.

“Now, you’re going to sprinkle some on the cabbage,” I tell him as I pass the bowl of chopped cabbage to him.

“How much exactly?”

“Honestly, we never measured things out exactly. As my grandma would say, use your heart.”

Elio smiles as he begins to sprinkle the salt over the cabbage. “Our cultures are similar that way, leading with our hearts in the kitchen.”

I smile back at him, watching as he carefully carries out each task that I taught him.

“What’s next?” he asks excitedly.

Elio and I have been cooking a lot together, teaching each other about our culture through food. We’ll rotate, where he teaches me how to cook traditional Italian meals, and I teach him how to cook traditional Korean meals, along with some American meals I learned from my mom.

“Massage the salt into the cabbage.”

Elio grins. “Watch these hands work their magic.”

I giggle at that, knowing his hands are quite literally magic with the way they work my body.

After a few minutes of him massaging the cabbage, we move on to the next step.

“Next, we need to make the paste while the cabbage sits for a while,” I tell him as I line up the ingredients for him to put into the blender.

As we work together to combine the paste with the carrots, green onions, and cabbage, a similar sense of peace settles over me.

The one that used to fill me when I spent time in the kitchen with my grandmother. I rub the heart on my bracelet, a small smile on my lips as a tear strolls down my cheek.

“????? ???, ?? ???,” I whisper.

Elio comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he kisses my cheek.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“I was saying hi to my grandma, and that I missed her. I could feel her here with us now.” My eyes water once more.

His grip on me tightens, his voice like silk in my ear. “Can you tell her something for me?”

I nod, unable to speak.

“Tell her that her granddaughter is the most brilliant and beautiful person, and I thank her for having a hand in that.”

And now I’m sobbing.

With a shaky breath, I whisper, “????? ? ????? ??? ??????, ? ???? ???, ? ????? ?? ?????.”

Contentedness washes over me as I feel her love coursing through my body. This is why I bake, for the connection I feel to her each time I do. It’s something I never want to lose.

It’s a part of myself, and I’m terrified to let it go.

Chapter 33

Elio

The morning sun peeks through my office window, where I’m finishing up what needs to be done before the short break we get off of hockey for Thanksgiving weekend.

---