Published: 2025-10-15

Erika sat at the small table waiting for her order to arrive. She hasn’t visited the town's café in more than a decade. The wooden tables had become old and scratched; someone even wrote “The devil was here” in one of them. The picture window next to the table gave her a view of the city: the passersby who ran to work, the people who jogged, the ones who walked their dog. Sitting at the same table she had last time, the only table she ever sat on, Erika smiled. This place was dear to her; it held many memories.

“Here you go, miss.” Said the waiter as he slid the cup of coffee and slice of carrot cake.
“I don’t like carrot cake.” She said in a low voice.
“Isn’t this what you ordered? I apologize for the mix-up. I’ll take it back immediately.”

The waiter reached for the plate, but Erika stopped him. “It’s all right. This is what I ordered.” She said. The young man, confused by the incongruity between Erika’s words and her actions, gave her a smile. “I hope you enjoy it.” He said, before leaving.

Erika stared at the cake, as if hypnotized by its appearance, and smiled. “I do not like carrot cake.” She said again, while taking a spoonful of the sweet delicacy. It was as soft and fluffy as she remembered it. Its taste was earthy yet sweet, a veritable explosion of flavor. Sitting alone at the table where the devil himself had allegedly sat, the now 40-year-old woman found herself remembering the first time she set foot in the then recently opened café.

“I told you, Ángel, I don’t like carrot cake!”
“Have you tried it before?”
“Why would I try it? I don’t like carrots.”
“Then don’t eat carrots. Now, come on, you’re gonna love their carrot cake.”

Ángel grabbed Erika by the arm and ran. People made way as the carefree teenagers ran on the sidewalk, forcing them to jump to the street. They were young and without any worries: Erika had just turned 18 and Ángel was 20. They were still laughing when they arrived at the café.

“Let’s sit in the back.” Erika said.
“Nuh-uh. I know the perfect spot.”

Ángel pointed to the table next to the picture window.

“And let every weirdo that passes by see us? Forget it.”
“That’s the best part, we can make funny faces at them. Come on.”

Erika’s eyes rolled in annoyance as Ángel ran to the table and sat down. He patted the booth as an invitation for her to sit.

As Erika sat down, Ángel beckoned for a waiter. Soon, a young man approached their table. “May I take your order?” He said.

“I’ll have a green juice, and the lady will have…”
“A latte.” Erika said.
“She’ll have a latte. And two slices of carrot cake, please.”

Erika rolled her eyes at Ángel, who, judging by the smile on his face, seemed unbothered by it.

The waiter came back after a few moments, carrying in a tray a tall glass filled with green juice, a white cup, and two dessert plates each carrying a slice of carrot cake. “Enjoy.” He said before leaving.

Erika raised her cup and blew on the hot beverage as she prepared to take a sip.

“Wait.” Ángel said.

Erika stopped. Her lips ajar, longing to feel the warmth of the cup pressing against them.

“Try the carrot cake first.”

Erika put the cup down and sighed. “You are way too pushy.” She said as Ángel literally pushed the dessert plate in front of her.

She took a spoonful of cake and, mustering the courage, ate it. Her squeezed shut eyes opened slowly as she chewed on the pastry.

“You like it, don’t you?”
“Shut up.”

Ángel laughed.

“Happy birthday, Erika.”
“Thank you.” She said, as a sincere smile drew on her face.

As she munched on the cake, the now forgotten cup of latte sat next to it. Ángel looked at her with a smile, he probably didn’t realize when he said the words: “I like you.”

“Yes, I know. Everybody knows. You’ve been telling me the same thing since I was five.”
“Then it’s settled. You will be my girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry, Ángel, it’s not happening. I need a man who lives dangerously.”
“Need I remind you I popularized riding the bicycle without hands?”
“Yeah, but yours still had training wheels.”
“That’s irrelevant.”

A deep, masculine voice interrupted her daydreaming. The waiter, perhaps? She raised her gaze, and her eyes met a familiar face, one she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Erika, is it really you?” Said the man.
“I’m Erika, yes.” She said, still unsure of who her interlocutor was.
“It’s me, Harry Lora, we went to high school together.”

Erika’s head leaned to the side, trying to remember who this person was as the uninvited man sat in front of her.

“Oh, come on, it’s me. My father owned the ice cream factory.”
“I remember the ice cream.”
“It’s to be expected. We didn’t talk much back then.”

Erika took a sip of the now cold latte, paying little attention to Harry.

“Anyway, what brings you to New Town? Last thing I knew was you moved out. Was it what? 20 years ago?”
“More or less, yes, my husband and I moved out of town.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not anymore.”
“Divorce, huh? I get you, my ex-wife took the children and—”
“Actually, no, I’m a widow.” Erika said before Harry could finish.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It happened many years ago.”
“It’s that right?”

Erika took another sip of her latte. Harry stared at her in an almost obsessive way.

“You know, I never got to say it, but I always liked you.” Harry said.
“I know. Everybody knows.”
“Right… So, now that we have reconnected after all these years, maybe I can take you to dinner. What do you say?”

Erika put her cup down and cleaned her mouth with a paper napkin. “I’m not really looking for company, Harry. It was nice seeing you, but I’m OK.”

Harry leaned back in his seat. “Oh, I get it. You still are the same entitled bitch you were back in high school. I should have known better.”

Erika took another sip of her latte. “You are gonna die if you get too close to me.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Erika didn’t answer.

“You know what, screw you.”

Harry got up from the table and left, his steps big and loud as those of an elephant.

As he crossed to the other side of the street, he turned around and gave Erika, who observed him from the picture window, two middle fingers. The picture window got tainted red as a brakeless truck impacted Harry’s body.

Erika put down her cup and sighed. “Men never listen.”

THE END.