The Last Appointment – Part 2: Coffee in the Mirror

The coffee was from the vending machine in the back corridor, too sweet and slightly burnt. Min-ji set two cups on the counter, one for herself and one for the man sitting in her chair with a towel around his shoulders and his new haircut shining under the lights.

"It's terrible," said Jae-won, after one sip.

"It's free," said Min-ji. "That's the only reason anyone drinks it."

He laughed, and the sound was surprised and bright. In the mirror, his face looked younger, freer, as if someone had lifted a weight off it.

"Tell me why you're running," said Min-ji.

Jae-won set down his cup. He stared at his reflection for a long moment.

"My father ran a company that collapsed," he said quietly. "Everyone blamed him. He signed the papers that ruined three hundred families, and then he walked out of our house and never came back. I was twenty. I said I'd never be like him. I promised myself I'd never leave anything unfinished."

"And you left the last job."

"I walked out of an engineering firm after two months," said Jae-won. "Because a senior partner asked me to sign something I didn't believe in. I told them I'd quit before I could be like my father. I think I've been running from being him ever since."

Min-ji's throat tightened. She put down her coffee and came round the chair, so that she could see his face in the mirror and not in the glass.

"You're not him," she said.

"I know that now."

"Then stop running. Start the new job. And if you have to walk out of something again, you walk out honestly, and tell them why."

He looked up at her reflection, his eyes wet. "That's what you do, isn't it? You tell people the truth about their hair."

"I tell them the truth about their fringe," said Min-ji, and smiled. "Everything else, I just listen to."

Jae-won laughed through the tears. Then his expression changed, slowly, into something more serious.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"Would you let me take you to dinner, tomorrow, somewhere that serves terrible coffee and excellent kimchi stew? I'd like to see what you're like when you're not standing behind a mirror."

Min-ji's heart jumped. "Yes," she said. "But you have to promise not to talk about your father for the whole meal."

"Deal," said Jae-won. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

"Can I kiss you? Here, while the salon's empty and the mirror is the only one watching?"

Min-ji smiled, slow and certain. "Yes," she said. "And if I say stop, you'll finish your terrible coffee and pay for the next haircut."

"Done," said Jae-won, and stood, very carefully, so the towel didn't slip. He turned to face her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

He kissed her gently, one hand coming up to rest against her cheek, the other settling at her waist. The taste of the coffee was bitter on his lips, sweet on hers. It was unhurried, a question answered and then answered again, and the city lights began to come on beyond the salon's tall windows, one by one.

When they parted, both of them were breathing unevenly, and laughing softly at nothing at all.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Min-ji. "Very green. Now sit back down, Jae-won, and let me finish the back of your neck. It's the only part I haven't made perfect yet."

"Is that a metaphor?"

"It's a haircut," said Min-ji, and picked up the scissors again, with a steady hand and a very happy heart.