But I follow Young-gi up some stairs to a different door. This one is less familiar to me. I never had dreams about it. He knocks with confidence, which I don’t feel at all.
“Yes?” a female voice calls through the door. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Sokolov,” Young-gi says. “We spoke on the phone a few days ago. I have a few questions about your missing son.”
I listen as several locks are disengaged and have a full-body tingle of awareness because they sound so familiar. All of them. I remember that sound.
My eyes are tearing up when the door opens.
A woman stands there, and seeing her is like having the most intense deja-vu ever. I don’t know her, but I feel like I recognize her. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, the coarse, dark strands only barely starting to fade to grey. She can’t be more than forty-five or so, if even that. I wonder if she had me young. She’s wearing a faded chef’s uniform, as if she’s going to work soon, and I feel a pang of regret. She had so many jobs when I was younger; all I remember about her is that she was always at work. She had to be.
Her eyes fall on me, and widen. We stare at each other.
“Um–” I choke, my voice failing.
“Tommy?” My mom sways on her feet. “Tommy? Tell me it’s you, tell me I’m not wrong.”
“It’s me,” I manage.
She pulls me inside and wraps me into a sobbing hug, her whole body shaking with the force of her emotions. “Tommy, Tommy!”
I hug her back, hesitant at first. I was so small when I knew her. This feels strange, being as tall as she is, bigger than she is. I don’t remember it. But it slowly starts to feel more natural, until my hug feels almost familiar.
“Ma!” my mom shrieks toward a hallway, not letting me go. She’s almost dragging me and my eyes widen helplessly at Young-gi, who is standing in the entrance, watching me. He looks amused at my helplessness, the bastard. I allow myself to be dragged in her bear hug to a bedroom door.
The apartment is unfamiliar, I don’t remember it, but I think…I think I remember that couch? Those mugs on the coffee table. Bits and pieces of this place. Bits and pieces of me.
We burst into a bedroom and my mom turns me around, not even breathing with all the yelling and crying she’s doing.
“Ma!” she sobs. “It’s Tommy!”
An elderly woman sits on a soft rocking chair, some knitting in her frail hands. She looks up at us, her mouth ajar. And her frizzy grey hair rocks me to my core. I remember that.
She reaches for me with one hand, and I fall to my knees by her chair.
She smells like cigars and lavender laundry detergent, just like my dream.
“Tommy?” she asks, like she’s making sure I’m real. She puts her hands on my shoulders, and suddenly she’s crying, too. “Tommy, Tommy, I’m so sorry. I was supposed to watch you, nota day goes by that I don’t wish I could tell you how sorry I am for that day–”
I shake my head and hug her. She feels smaller than I remember. “I’m alright,” I say. “I never blamed you.”
“Where have you been!?” my mom asks, getting to her knees beside me, clinging to me like I might disappear at any moment.
“It’s a long story,” I say hesitantly. “But, lately, I’ve been with Young-gi, my fiancé. He’s the one who found you guys again. I wouldn’t have known where to start.”
The two women look up and see Young-gi standing in the hallway, and he nods at them respectfully.
“Oh my,” my mother breathes. She pats my back and murmurs close to my ear. “Well done, baby. Good god, he’s fine. Fiancé, you say?”
I blush like crazy, torn between being horrified that my mother is saying that, and proud because fuck yeah I did good, he’s the finest man I’ve ever seen.
“Tracy,” my grandmother admonishes gently.
“What? I’m not blind.”
“Tracy,” I say suddenly, blinking at her. Like breadcrumbs, these little memories are slowly feeding the hungry, hollow space in my soul. “Your name is Tracy. I-I forgot. I’m sorry, I don’t remember much of anything before I–before I left. I don’t remember, Mom, I’m sorry–”
“It’s okay,” she rushes to soothe me, petting my hair. “That’s alright, baby. Let’s go have some tea or coffee and we can catch up, okay?”
