Fifty-eight

The diner bustles with activities as I make my way into the farthest corner away from the door. I sight Clarissa behind the counter, hair pulled tight into a sleek bun with her lips moving rapidly as she attends to a customer. The smell of pastries, plus the aroma of freshly made coffee and the noise of the diners have my nostrils flaring in delight. I tip my hat and inhale the air of deliciousness, a feeling of nostalgia creeping up on me.

Settling into the only unoccupied booth, I cast one look out the window where people mill around in groups of twos and threes. Our school is a few minutes walk from here. My eyes narrow in on my car; my baby looking out of place in that spot between smaller cars. It still feels odd, almost surreal to know I have one. My fingers splay on the window, something warm stirs in my chest, I can’t wait for our second ride as a couple.