To stay or To-go
1,093 words
Romance
The cafe buzzed. Conversation, coffee machines and the light twinkling of teaspoons hitting ceramic. It surrounded Jane like a fog. She sat in the window seat - a bay window hugging the round table set up with seating for two - but it felt no more private than centrestage. She pushed her fork at the cake in front of her - a delicate sponge with cream icing and a ravishing red strawberry on top - but made no attempt to eat it. She merely scraped at the sponge, forming no dents, only encouraging tiny crumbs to roll down the ski slope onto her plate.
Why did it have to be so busy?
It would have been less embarrassing if it was just her and the staff. She could have laughed it off with them, offered the cold drink opposite her back to them and said, "at least I got an extra slice of cake." As if she was going to eat her own. She sighed, refreshing her messages one last time.
Nothing.
She'd never been stood up before. Mostly because she'd never agreed to go on a date with a near stranger before. At least friends called ahead. Or came in threes, so if one didn't show, you had another walking in two minutes later mirroring your look of exasperation. You weren't alone.
But was that even true anymore?
The reason Jane had even made the dating app account was because she'd proffered five different social gatherings in the last few months and not one person had said yes. The last message didn't even carry any replies. Was it because they were busy? Was it because Jane couldn't take a hint? Were they bad friends or simply drifting into a new stage of life that she was starting to doubt she'd ever get to. Jane didn't care for the answer. Not really. She studied for it at midnight many a night but in reality, there was no happy one.
You're the keeper of your own happiness right?
So she'd made this date. With Matt, age 32, from London. 6 ft tall - although that could mean anything from 5ft 10 according to Liv who married her high-school sweetheart and never set foot on an app. Matt had been okay. He didn't seem like a serial killer. And he liked 'the office' which gave them something to talk about. His job wasn't listed but apparently it was something boring in finance so he didn't advertise it. He complimented Jane's smile which was nice. Better than tits which the boys at the pub liked to do. He'd even claimed to have a sweet tooth prompting Jane to propose meeting at the Jasmine Cafe and ordering a slice of Victoria Sponge on his behalf. Now she was out of pocket too.
A chair scraped to her left and it was like the blaring horn of a train on departure.
Jane put her fork down. It had been half an hour. Nobody was late by half an hour. Not when the date was supposedly two streets down from your flat. Finally abandoning the sad little cakes, Jane noted her table number and headed to the counter. The barista managing the till glanced at her, still serving the couple in front. They were gushing about their afternoon plans. A walk in the park, arm in arm. Hopefully they'll see some ducks! Bitterness seeped under her pores. Jane could go to the park. She could see some ducks. But what was the point when she had no one to hear her announce "hey look, ducks!". And a few pictures on her story would just be sad. ‘Alone again, Jane?’ ‘These pictures would be sweet if there was a child taking them.’ ‘Don't you have any real hobbies?’
"Table number." The guy behind the counter called and Jane abruptly stepped up.
"Thirteen please.”
His eyes flickered over to her table, the uneaten cake, half empty cup. She didn't even like coffee. Just ordered it to seem sophisticated.
"You want them to go?”
Jane shook her head. "No, it's fine.”
I just want to go, she thought to herself, shifting weight from foot to foot.
"Not good enough?" He asked and Jane balked. His head was cocked, challenge in his ice-blue eyes. His hair was overgrown in a way that suggested post-grad emo and his attitude reflected that same sentiment.
"Just not for me." Jane ground out through a plastered grin. What did this guy care about a defrosted cake baked at a factory halfway across the country?
Apparently a lot as the man shook his head, muttering to himself as he aggressively typed on his till.
"What was that?" Jane asked, blinking her eyes in mock innocence. The man scoffed. He stopped his attack on the till to lean his broad arms on the counter and glare right into her eyes.
"It's a waste of food. I don't take orders for the bin.”
A rush of heat lanced Jane, unreasonable and sparking. How dare this man accuse her. And how accurately. The cafe noise seemed to lessen, as if this one conversation was the hottest topic around. Jane squeezed her purse, cutting her eyes into daggers.
"Then eat them yourself.”
It was the stupidest argument she'd ever had. Embarrassment warred with the spurs of rage. She'd never met this barista before. Never been in this cafe. And yet she wanted it all to burn.
The man rolled his eyes and Jane nearly took back the stage, but then he stepped back. The till keys clacked once again and Jane diffused. It was over. Finally, the whole disastrous afternoon was over.
"That'll be £16.97.”
Jane fumbled with her card but just as the machine pinged with acceptant, a voice called out behind her.
"Jane!”
She spun around. It was Matt. Face pink and shiny, he forced his way between the tables, knocking into backs and heads and tripping on legs.
"I'm so sorry I'm late!" He cried, landing at her feet. "My nieces were around and my sister got delayed.”
He grabbed her hand with both of his.
"Please forgive me.”
He wore the kind of brown eyes puppy dogs did.
Jane's gaze flickered to the cakes still sitting on the table. Had it all been an accident? Could this still be salvaged. The genuine pain on Matt’s face solidified her decision. Jane smiled, unwrapping Matt's hands from her own.
“It’s okay.” She said then turned back to the barista.
"Actually," she started, letting her smile slip into smug. "I will take those cakes to-go.”