“Maybe I shouldn’t go out today,” my husband said.
He had been coughing on and off all morning.
“Sure. You don’t have to. You can just work from home.”
For the past few days, he had blamed the coughing on air conditioning. We don’t have air conditioning at home.
He had been taking Tylenol now and then. I kept telling him he should see a doctor.
“What if it turns into pneumonia?”
“You were coughing a lot in your sleep last night, too.”
He said nothing.
I paused.
“Oh, is all that coughing from smoking?”
He nodded.
Haha.
As I took a sheet mask from the refrigerator, I thought,
He’s been smoking for decades. Maybe coughing like this wasn’t anything new for him.
I put the cool sheet mask on my face and lay down for fifteen minutes.
Then I got up.
Before Reality Had Said Anything
There had been other days when I had seen my husband sitting on a bench under the trees in our apartment parking lot, looking at his phone, and thought,
Oh, he must be leaving late today.
Then I would start cooking.
I would make multigrain rice.
I might grill two whole mackerel.
And after all that, he would come in and say,
“I have lunch plans. I’m heading out.”
This had happened more than once.
But today was different.
I had spent a good hour at a café that morning, then come home and quickly sautéed some onion and shiitake mushrooms.
I made a little egg salad too, using two of the four eggs I had boiled that morning. Before leaving for the café, I had left two of them, along with some sliced apple, for my husband’s breakfast.
There was some cold steamed cabbage left in the refrigerator from the day before, so I took that out, added rice and natto, and wrapped it all in the cabbage.
It was delicious.
Then my husband said he might stay home.
And somehow, my mind began moving ahead.
I had already soaked some seaweed in cold water.
A package of beef for soup had arrived that morning. I had ordered it the day before because I wanted to make miyeokguk, Korean seaweed soup.
If my husband had gone out as usual, I probably would have made exactly that.
Miyeokguk would have been enough for me.
My son and daughter like it too.
We could have enjoyed it for lunch, and dinner could have been whatever came next.
But now my husband was home.
And somehow that changed the meal in my head.
Miyeokguk alone didn’t feel quite enough for his lunch.
I would need something else with it.
Maybe the salted mackerel that had also arrived that morning.
And then—
Oh. He’ll be home for dinner too.
What would I make for dinner?
Oh, there it was.
Haha.
My husband hadn’t asked me to make miyeokguk.
He hadn’t asked for grilled mackerel.
He hadn’t even said he was going to eat lunch at home.
All he had said was,
“Maybe I shouldn’t go out today.”
A little earlier, he had happily told me he had lost a few kilograms.
For the past few days, he had sometimes eaten a piece of bread late in the afternoon and skipped dinner, saying he would just have yogurt at home.
And yet there I was,
planning his lunch,
then planning his dinner,
then feeling tired by the meals I had planned all by myself.
Ugh. This is such a bother.
Haha.
Keep It Simple
I had work to do that day too.
It was a publishing day for my blog. I had written the first draft at the café that morning, but I still needed to revise it and work on the photos.
On my way home, I had thought,
It’s cooler at home now. Maybe I can work quietly there this afternoon.
Then my husband said he wasn’t going out.
For a moment, everything began to feel heavy.
Maybe I should make lunch and then go back to a café.
Maybe—
I stopped.
Okay. Keep it simple.
I let out a long breath.
Dinner could wait.
I would just make lunch.
I walked toward the refrigerator to get the grains for the rice.
Then I opened the door.
Bean sprouts.
Radish.
I looked at them.
The bean sprouts had arrived that morning too.
I had ordered them because I had an idea for a spicy seafood stir-fry using some seafood in the freezer. I had never made it before.
But I hadn’t felt like trying it yet.
I’ll make it when I feel like it, I had thought.
Now I looked at the bean sprouts and radish.
There were green onions too.
And the beef was already there.
Oh. I could make spicy beef soup.
And just like that,
my body felt lighter.
One Thing Was Enough
Beef soup was different.
Everyone in my family liked it.
With beef, radish, bean sprouts, and green onions, it could hold the meal together.
My husband could eat it for lunch.
And there would still be enough for dinner.
I wouldn’t have to start all over again.
So I made the soup.
And somewhere along the way, I began enjoying myself.
I looked at the seaweed I had already soaked for the miyeokguk.
It was beautifully softened.
I suddenly remembered a dish I used to love.
When I was a newlywed, my husband’s grandmother had once made a seasoned seaweed and dried pollock salad. She was a wonderful cook, and I still remembered the taste.
So I froze half the seaweed for another day.
With the rest, I added some softened dried pollock, some sweet and tangy red chili sauce I had made earlier, a little minced garlic, vinegar, and salt.
I mixed it quickly.
It was delicious.
My son came into the kitchen and tried a bite.
He smiled.
“You eat it, Mom.”
Then he took some of the beef soup he liked and left.
For my husband’s lunch, I put out the beef soup with multigrain rice, natto, some of the onion and shiitake mushrooms I had made earlier, and the seaweed and dried pollock salad.
He ate slowly while looking at his phone.
When he was finished, almost everything was gone.
Except the seaweed and dried pollock salad.
He hadn’t touched it.
Oh.
I put the untouched dish back in the refrigerator.
One thing was enough to hold the meal together.
I didn’t have to start all over again.
And Then Dinner Came
That evening, I didn’t start over.
The beef soup was already there.
So was the seaweed and dried pollock salad.
I took it right back out of the refrigerator.
Haha.
I added some fresh greens to the table.
And this time, I grilled the mackerel.
Just one.
The fish had been split open, so once it was grilled, there were two large pieces.
My husband ate one.
My son ate the other.
Exactly enough.
My husband finished his dinner.
The beef soup.
The mackerel.
The other things on the table.
And there it was again.
The seaweed and dried pollock salad.
Still sitting there.
Still untouched.
So I ate it.
At lunch.
And again at dinner.
All I wanted.
I Didn’t Have to Start Over
I had thought I needed to do less.
But maybe that wasn’t quite it.
I didn’t need to keep starting over.
The beef soup carried us through lunch and dinner.
I made the seaweed dish because I wanted to.
And when dinner came, I grilled just one mackerel.
Nothing felt lacking.
One thing was enough.
And after that,
the rest could simply happen as it happened.
