Last Night at the Café

27 | Coffee Mix

A / N

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~

THE ENTRANCE HALL of her home was silent. She had given eomma a rough estimate of her arrival but hadn't said more than that. She had wanted to take her time to collect her thoughts on the bus from the train station before throwing herself into the whirlpool of emotions she knew would come. With her gaze trained on the lives of other people, droplets of rain marring her view, Seollal had fallen into a reflective silence.

Seollal had drawn the odd stare as she rolled her luggage down the quiet streets of her neighbourhood. A bag of strawberries hung from one hand together with a roll of half-eaten gimbap she had brought with her on her train ride. There were the familiar lines of trees, the neatly trimmed bushes below the windows, yellow buds peeking from the green leaves. Maru and Hwan were probably still in school.

A familiar voice called out to her as she let the door to the shoe cabinet shut.

Her mother appeared from the living room. It pained her to see her mother decked in a sweater and a vest. Eomma's face was drawn, shadows showing up under her eyes and her cheeks. Seollal knew she had been holding out against the inevitable; shaving her hair. She had such long hair once. But she and appa had done it at home the week before, snipping off her luscious hair before finishing off with appa's shaver. Unnie had sent her a video of the process.

"Eomma," she said softly.

"Seollal ah."

Letting go of her luggage, she gave into her mother's warm embrace, holding her tight as a ball welled up in her chest. The edge of her mother's knit beanie rubbed against her cheek.

"Your hair," she murmured, her voice threatening to break.

"Silly girl," eomma said with a smile. "It's just hair."

She swallowed hard, her eyes screwed shut to blink back her tears.

"Eomma," she muttered, "I haven't washed my hands."

"That's not important," her mother returned.

"I ate some strawberries. It's sticky."

She pulled away in horror, smacking her on the arm as she did so.

"Jeon Seollal!" she exclaimed. "Look at you. Already twenty-six but still walking around with sticky fingers."

"Eomma!" She broke out in laughter as she handed her bag of strawberries over. "I'm home."

~

Seollal didn't quite know what to expect when she was meeting the woman who had given birth to her. It had been 16 years after all. 16 long years of growing up, of schooling, of studying in England, or getting her first job, all without her birth mother.

Would she still hate her?

Would she want to spit out all those venomous words of blame to her, just like how she did to the men who had once surrounded her?

It was surreal to see her birth mother sitting across of her in a family restaurant. Her hair was cropped short, her face weathered with lines. She had on a blue and pink jacket that had seen better days.

Sitting across of her, Seollall had her hands in a tight grasp under the table, her palms a damp mess. Maybe she should have listened to eomma after all and met her at their home. It wouldn't have been so awkward, if so.