The Heartbreaking Love Stories

THE COFFEE DATE

 Last night I barely slept, so the scent of coffee is what gets my feet rushing and my feelings compelled. It’s the only thing I care about in the entire world at this moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Kowe,” the waitress at the coffee shop entrance greets me with a big smile that I can’t match. My whole attention is stolen by the noise the store manager is making at the counter, but, I manage to say “Hi” to the waitress as I march to the counter. I’m surprised by the way the manager is shouting at the young woman, and I’m curious about what could have gone wrong.

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. You can’t pay with cash here. We only accept cards!” He yells.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” says the young lady.

“Are you blind?” He’s breathing heavily. “There’s a sign at the door, another one right here by the counter. See? A sign! Do you see it now?” He points at the sign.

 “Yes, I do. I just didn’t see it at first,” she responds softly.

 “So what am I supposed to do with this coffee, drink it?!” He roars, and I swear smoke is about to come out of his ears.

 “I’m waiting for someone. They’ll pay for it,” she says, and the tension in the air draws the attention of the other customers in the store. I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s trying hard to find some common ground with the manager.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry I’m late,” I say as I kiss her on the cheek—even though I don’t know her. I then look at the manager with a bit of disgust. “I’ll pay for the coffee, and the usual for me,” I say, handing him my card.

 “Oh, Mr. Kowe!” His lips trembles, “I didn’t know you were—”

“Make it snappy!” I snap, and he rushes to the coffee maker.

 “Thank you,” the young woman says, looking up at me. Her face shows relief. She takes the cup of coffee, and I take her hand, leading her to the first empty table we find. I pull the chair out for her to sit. She's following my lead, but I notice the confusion in her eyes. I offer her my hand for a proper greeting as I sit down.

 “My name is Mo,” I say while her soft hand rests in mine. Before she responds, the waitress appears at our table.

 “Here’s your usual, Mr. Kowe,” the waitress places the mug on the table and she disappears immediately.

 “And why does everyone in here address you by your surname?” She blinks several times as if she said something wrong. “I mean, is it your surname?”

“Yes, it’s my last name,” I smile. I notice her eyes widens when she’s attentive, and her lips almost curl like she’s steadying a smile. I continue, “That’s how people will address you when you start making some money.”

 “What makes you think I’m not already making money?” She folds her arms.

“Well, your turtleneck looks like you bought it many winters ago. You’re wearing a hat, which means your hair isn’t done. And—” I pull her hand and glance at the watch she’s wearing. “What is this, Philips?”

 “It’s Philicks!” she protests, pulling her hand back.

 “See, I’ve never heard of a watch brand called Philicks”

 “I’m still waiting for a reason why you think I’m not making money. Is it because I’m not wearing expensive clothes?” Her voice is cold.

“Oh no, that’s not it. Also, because you didn’t have twenty-five rands in your bank account to buy coffee.”