I drink from your mug while you’re away just to hurt you, but rinse it after-
wards so that you wouldn’t know. I brought Chinese yesterday, I even got
dishes I do not like, just because you do. Every strike of the hour seemed like
a carpenter hitting one more nail in the coffin of our relationship. You only
managed to call at 11 pm saying you could not show up, and that you already
had dinner with some colleagues after shopping.
“Oh, I had Chinese too!”
You don’t owe me anything, I know. And I had coffee from your mug.
I am not rinsing it. And I am not breaking it either. I want you to see the resi-
due of my Nescafe at the bottom. And I want you to see there was no sugar
because, for the millionth time, you did not bring any.
“By the time I finished all I had to do – and I passed by Linda – the super-
market was closed. I will get some sugar tomorrow.”
My Nescafe is bitter and I drink it as an act of defiance, a proof that I do not
need you, or the sugar you forgot to bring, and I threw the leftovers of the
Chinese dinner. I don’t need you.
“Hello, are you dropping by tonight?”
“I have this business dinner. And I am dropping by Linda again. You know
she had this severe breakup.”
“OK, sugar.”
“Oh, which reminds me, I still did not bring any.”
We met for the first time on Bliss Street. I thought it was a nice omen. I am
not bitter, just that my Nescafe is.