“Five minutes please.” He pleads.
“I need to go Lawrence.” Stacy says turning to give him a brief kiss on the cheek.
“I know. You said that ten minutes ago.”
They are lying on his bed. On the red duvet with the Juventus football print. He runs his hand softly on her left thigh that’s well exposed in a white polka dress.
“You know I love you, right?” She asks him, breaking the silence. A common silence they often share when they are together. You might confuse it for a peaceful one, but deep down there is a raging wave of emotions.
“Yes. And I love you too. Why can’t I spend quality time with you Stacy? Is it always going to be like this?”
“Babe, you know I don’t do this intentionally.” She turns and sits on his lap as he lies down. He moves his hands from behind his back and grips her waist.
They stare at each other for a second. He smiles. Her eyes always make him soft even when he is mad as hell.
“I will make it up to you after the picnic, sawa?” She rubs her soft hands on his bare chest.
“Well, hope you don’t cancel on this one AGAIN.”
“Babe, let’s get over that okay? I told you, I was called back to work. After the shitty job, I didn’t fancy a picnic!” A frown starts forming on her cute flawless face.
He notices and stops it mid-way, “Sawa, can I get a kiss before you go?”
“Yes my Lord, haha.” She leans in and they kiss passionately. Then she hurriedly springs up and sits on the side of the bed.
He sits up, grabs a t-shirt lying on the bed and puts it on. “Can we get lunch before you go?” Now he’s teasing her.
“Very funny, ha-ha-ha,” she fakes a laugh. “No way.”
Outside the apartment he hugs her before she enters the Uber cab. Then waves back as the cab drives off. He takes a few minutes longer in the sun before walking away, I wish Stacy stayed longer today.
He heads towards Crave Kitchen, his favourite restaurant for a drink and lunch. As he enters, he scans briefly at the counter to see who’s serving him today.
“Hey,” Lawrence responds.
“What will you have today?”
“Uhm, what’s today’s chef’s special?” He turns towards the board and makes up his mind before the lady responds. “I’ll have that number 5.”
“Cool. Any drink?”
“Sawa, give me like five minutes.” The lady punches in the order.
He sits on the seat with the rustic glass coffee table piled with the day’s newspapers. Flips through and stops to look at a waiter walking his direction then passes. He checks around the restaurant as if looking for something or someone then gets back to flipping through the Daily Nation, skimming through a sports article.
The lady at the counter waves at him to signal the order is ready. He walks up to her, yanks his wallet off his pocket and draws two notes out of it.
“Here you go,” handing him the brown bag.
He grabs it and pays. “Keep change.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Back at his apartment, he walks to the kitchen to serve the meal. His phone alerts an incoming message, ‘Bing!’ It’s Stacy; [Hey Babe, did I leave my fuchsia scarf there?]
He turns towards the living room and sees it lying on the couch. Then texts back. He then walks to the couch and places his plate on the table.
He sits down and holds the scarf in his hands, closes his eyes for a second as draws it for a sniff. Taking in her sweet seductive scent. Holding the scarf so delicately as if he was holding her in his arms. Something he always seemed to long more of than she.
At that moment, words escape his lips, almost as a