On order a cup of coffee

“Mom, please don’t answer the phone.”
“Why not? Did you two fight? Don’t hurt a girl’s heart. Never break up with her first—let her say it first.”
It seemed like my son was about to break up with his girlfriend. But why did it hurt my heart so much that he wasn’t answering her calls?

“Where have I seen him before?” 

I wondered, surprised. He wasn’t someone I knew, but he looked familiar. It happened at the TOEFL exam at Yonsei University. His sharp jawline, intelligent but distant eyes, medium height… he was exactly my type. Love at first sight.

After the test, I kept glancing at him, stalling for time.
“Did your test go well?”
He came up and talked to me. I never imagined he would. Surprised, I just shook my head and smiled.
“Where are you going to study abroad?”
“New York.”
“And you?”
“Chicago.”
Maybe he noticed I had been looking at him, because he suddenly asked,

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

I was so shocked but nodded after hesitating. I followed him and said, “Coffee,” too, even though I didn’t really drink it. Coffee made my heart race and gave me dizziness. I picked up the cup. My hand shook so much I almost spilled it. I barely managed one sip and put it down. I tried again, but my heart was beating so fast that I couldn’t bring the cup to my mouth. The cup rattled loudly on the saucer. He must’ve noticed. I kept my head down, staring at the flower pattern on the cup. After a moment of silence, he asked,

“Can I have your phone number?”

I gave it to him, and he wrote it down.

“I have plans with a friend.”

He stood up to leave. My legs were shaking so badly I couldn’t stand up.

The day I got home, I was excited. I cleaned my room for the first time in ages. The next day, I stayed near the phone, listening carefully every time it rang. I even looked into good art schools in Chicago, in case things worked out and we studied abroad together. By the third day, I stopped going out and stayed near the phone. The phone rang.
“Is that you?”

It was a friend. I quickly made up an excuse and hung up. On the fourth day, I kept picking up and putting down the phone, checking if it was broken. By the fifth day, I started to wonder—had I given him the wrong number? Or had he written it down wrong? On the sixth day, I picked up the phone and heard nothing. It was broken. I begged my dad to get it fixed. By the time it worked again, it had been nine days since I met him.“

He definitely called on the seventh day. Or maybe not… but he said he would… no, he wouldn’t just forget…”

I lay under my blanket, full of confused thoughts. Half asleep, half awake, I heard the phone ringing in the distance.

“Was that the phone?”

“No.”

“But I heard it!”

I waited desperately. I skipped meals for days. I shrank under the blanket like a piece of straw, checking if I was still even there.

“What’s going on? Did you get your heart broken? Say something! You’re going to worry us to death. Get up!”

But I couldn’t speak. I just cried out loud.

“Who’s the guy who made our precious daughter climb the tree, only to shake it and make her fall? Look at your hair! Go to Ewha and get your hair done. Buy some new clothes and take a break.”

“How would you like your hair done?”
“Like Michael Jackson, please.”
I meant the curly afro style from the late ’70s. That was the best way I could punish myself.