It's worse to wait. I pressed the key and heard my dad in his everyday voice.
- Yes, Dad, it's me. Yeah, everything's fine. But, Dad...the baby died. Yes, the baby died, that's what I said. The baby is dead...
(How the hell would I know the word for miscarriage in Korean?)
- No, we don't know what happened. Yes, Jeff's right here. We're just leaving the hospital. No, no, I'm not going into work today. We're going home now. Yes, we'll be ok. I'm just going to rest. Ok...
- Hi, Mom, I don't know. I don't know what happened. I know it'll be ok. We're fine. Yes, Jeff's staying home with me today.
- The doctor said we can try again in about a month, after I have my period. It's very common. I know... There isn't much to do to recover. The doctor said I just need to rest. No, she didn't say anything about a special diet.
- No, no, you don't need to come out. I'm just going to lie in bed, that's all. No, no, don't cancel your trip. You've been waiting for so long. There isn't enough time for you to come out. We'll be fine. Really. We can cook for ourselves.
- Seaweed soup? Yes, I know it's good for you. You don't have to make it for me. It's ok. Ok, I'll have some. I'm sure they have it at Korean restaurants... No, I don't know how to make it. Oh, ok, seaweed... really, you pan fry the seaweed? Yes, I have sesame oil. Ok, I'll add some clams. No, we don't have any. Yes, Jeff can get some at the store.
- Yes, I promise, I'll have some. I have to eat it every day? For a week? Ok, ok, I promise.
That night, after I deleted my calendar entries tracking my pregnancy and after I threw all the baby books into a Macy's bag and pushed it into a closet in the other bedroom, I shoved seaweed soup into my mouth, sobbing and cursing at the seaweed, cursing at my body.