Loss

The Cafe

I'm still here.

I'm still here, sitting in the same spot, holding the same two cups of coffee, and stuck in the same cafe. It's nearly unchanging. It should be unchanging. But this time . . . this time, the seat before me is empty. Hollow. Cold, without the warmth of a back leaning against the back of it.

It hasn't been long, but my heart still aches at the thought of any of it being real. It isn't real. My wife always gets her favorite drink. A hot macchiato with a dash of vanilla and caramel to offset the bitter taste. She never has a good day without it. My drink is nothing special, but she tells me otherwise. It's just a hot chocolate with peppermint, and she thinks—thought it was so funny that even during the summer, I still get the drink with Christmas spirit.

My sweet Aimi was beautiful. From the way she giggled behind her macchiato, to the silk of her white fur, and the smooth hair pulled casually into a ponytail. Something about that lovely laugh and the mischievous smile always lit the room up with her charm, making everyone pay attention to it. And those eyes . . . those wide, yellow eyes that could melt even the fiery heart of a vicious dragon. Everything about her was beautiful, and ever day, I'm reminded of how lucky I was to have loved her.

My gaze falls to the watch on my wrist and I blink at the time. Standing up from my seat, I head over to the barista and numbly ask her to throw away the other cup on the table because I was too much of a coward to do it. She whispers a soft yes.

"Thank you," I murmur, turning back around and walking out the door. I don't see her face. Not completely. It was more like staring through her. Like a ghost.

Work takes forever to get through with my lack of focus.

My projects are always finished, but I have been asking my co-workers to present them for me and said that I could not do it this time. 5:00 hits, and it is time to go back to an empty house, with no one to greet me, and no one to have dinner with. So I stopped by our favorite Japanese spot, asked for an order to go, and waited. As I waited, I noticed her 3 friends were here too. They noticed me from their table, all got up and walked toward me, and I bowed my head as a sign of greeting. But the next thing they did, shocked me for a moment. They wrapped their arms around me and hugged me.

One of them spoke out, "Rich, we are sorry for what happened with Aimi, we were here to drink in her memory. Would you like to join us?"

They released their embrace, and I only smiled lightly before it quickly faded. "I... appreciate the kind offer, but I think I just want to go home for the night. I'll uh, catch up another time."

The girls nodded, hugged me one last time, and went back to their table. I received my food and walked out the door. I set the food in my car, and had a quick smoke before putting it out, and drive home.

The lights of a traditional black and cherry blossom trimmed home pour into the night after pulling up to my driveway. I didn't think much of it when I took my shoes off after coming inside and made a beeline straight for the kitchen. Dinner wasn't much that night, but I took it to the island bar in the center of the kitchen and plopped onto the seat with a hard sigh. The first bite of food tasted like nothing. The second one was even worse, with the downpour of salt that fell from my eyes and touched the corners of my lips. My appetite was gone. And the only thing I could say to myself was, "Bleh, too salty."

After I finished eating, I threw away my meal and sat back down at that lonely, little island. I glanced down to my left and caught my breath, my heart plummeting a thousand feet to the pit of my stomach. A beautiful photo of Aimi was there. Shakily, I took the photo in my hand and cradled it close to stop the tremors. My heart tugged at the memory of our marriage and the weight of it makes my trip to the bedroom even harder after gently placing the picture back on the counter. Each step was like quicksand; sinking me further and further into the carpet stairs until I reach the top step. My bedroom shouted at me to come back to its cold clutches, but I take a detour to another room instead.

The room, despite the exterior of the house, was as blue as the sky, with bunches of soft clouds painted to lighten up the nursery. In the room stood a dark crib filled with enough toys to make any child in the world jealous, and a hand-sewn blanket that took almost nine months to make. The sight of it all overwhelmed me and I hurriedly turned off the light and rushed to my room at the other end of the hallway.

I made it inside my room without another fuss and removed my clothes, leaving the strewn articles on the floor. My feet move on their own accord as I crawled beneath the unkept sheets and plopped into bed. Looking at the other side of my bed, I envisioned the most amazing woman I've ever known lying there, smiling at me. I held onto that end of the bed and cried myself to sleep once more.