Love Affair That Was Never To Be

After work, I decided to pass by my favorite restaurant in town, Art Caffé, to take something cold for the road before heading home. Art Caffé always had this calming ambience and soft aesthetics that made it the perfect place to wind down after a long workday. But for me, it was never just about the place. It was about her.

Mercey.

She was the barista and mixologist who worked the counter, and every time I saw her, she stole my breath away. She had this flawless dark melanin skin that looked like God had perfected creation on her, and the rest of us were just trial and error. She made me think Beyonce was thinking of her when she sang “Brown Skin Girl”. Her smile was so lethal with perfect white teeth lined so neatly that a simple smile from her could send me drifting into fantasies. Her figure was something else too. When she tied her apron around her small waist, it framed her hourglass body in a way that made resisting her impossible.

I was fond of her, and over time we had built a warm rapport. Whenever I came in, I went straight to her station at the counter and ordered from her. She always surprised me with her choice of cocktail, and I always stayed to chat with her between the customers she served. Others came to Art Caffé for the music, the design, the ambience. But with me, I came for her, the beautiful creation behind the counter. Watching her flip cups and bottles midair while mixing drinks was as entertaining as any show.

It was on a Friday and it was no different. Art Caffé was hosting its usual live jazz session, with a saxophonist filling the space with sweet, mellow tunes. I sat at the counter, just a few feet away from Mercey’s devastating smile, sipping the cocktail she had made for me. In my head, as always, I entertained wild fantasies of being married to her, with ten kids running around just like Lucille and Kenny Rodgers.

But this Friday was special. It was the 22nd of July, her birthday. I had come prepared with ten thousand shillings in my pocket, ready to tip her and tell her to get something nice for herself on this special day of hers.

As I sat there, lost in her glow, the saxophonist suddenly walked closer toward me with his music getting louder. He was playing a cover of “Taya” by Okello Max, and the crowd was swaying to the rhythm. At first, I thought he was walking to me. Then, out of nowhere, another man appeared, holding a bouquet, not of flowers, but of money folded and arranged beautifully into the shape of roses.

For a moment, I was confused. It looked like he was coming my way, smiling. My mind raced with ridiculous thoughts. Could this guy be approaching me? Had I become so handsome that even men now delivered gifts to me? But I quickly killed that thought by remembering the mirror reflection of myself I had seen earlier that morning. Handsome? Not quite… maybe to my mother.

When the man finally reached the counter, he swerved left and presented the bouquet straight to Mercey. She froze for a bit, then let out a scream of joy. In the blink of an eye, she jumped over the counter and into his arms. In that moment the guy still continued to pull out a small card from his jacket pocket. From where I sat and being so close to the drama unfolding, I read the words scribbled on it and they read, “To my Beautiful Queen”.

That was the moment my world came crashing down. But yet, how was this possible? She had given me all the hints. Laughing at my dry jokes, brushing my arm now and then, sneaking in extra shots into my drink without billing me extra, like we shared some secret. All those little gestures made me believe there was something more.

My heart sank. It felt as if someone had ripped my chest open and crushed my heart into dust. Mercey, the woman I had been admiring all this time, the woman who made me believe in impossible fantasies, already had a man. A man bold enough to declare his love in front of everyone.

I sat frozen and staring, while my soul shattered piece by piece. Every memory I had of her, every imagined future, dissolved in that instant. What I thought could be a story was nothing but a wild goose chase, me chasing something I never had a chance of catching.I excused myself quietly, paid my bill, and walked out.

Anyway on the brighter side, the ten thousand shillings I had carried stayed untouched in my pocket. I went home a little richer but infinitely more broken.

From that day on, I stopped drinking cocktails altogether. Cocktails reminded me of her, the one that got away before I even had a chance. Furthermore I also felt like nobody can make me better cocktails. I switched to beer. It was simpler, less fancy, and did not carry her face in every sip.

Mercey broke my heart, and Art Caffé has never been the same again…