Bedford Street Diner isn’t much busier than it was when we ate this morning.  People mill in and out and that’s about the only detail I notice.   I’m too absorbed in my own misery taking the form of my reflection in cup of coffee that’s too small and too cold.  I need sleep.  Maybe I’ll just buy the next apartment I look at and nap there.  Yeah, because that’s not creepy at all.  You know what else isn’t creepy?  Getting a booth by yourself facing the door, just in case.  I attempt to read the newspaper but every time the little bell jingles announcing another customer, I snap my head up so fast there’s a distinct possibility I’ll get whiplash.

Tink-a-link-a-link

I look up.  A man with a small girl on his shoulders, about five or so, comes in and he ducks low enough so she doesn’t hit her brunette head.  It makes my heart hurt and I’m not even sure why.  He orders coffee, she orders chocolate milk, and I go back to pretending that today’s comics are funny.

Tink-a-link-a-link

I look up again.  A couple.  Great.  Perfect.  Fine.  Fall all over each other and don’t mind the poor sap about ready for death by a fork in the neck.  He takes her hand and kisses the modest, but brilliant, diamond adorning a silver band on her ring finger as they slide into an open booth.  Next to each other.  Of course.

“More coffee, hon?”  A green-eyed blonde in a simple uniform masks mild concern with a smile.

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

I pretend to think.  “A giant bottle of tequila?”

She laughs and winces.  “Already?  Must be a hell of a day you’re having.”

I just shake my head.  “You have no idea.”

She gives me a sympathetic look and leaves me to my second, no wait, third cup. She reminds me of my sister a bit; spunky attitude and a smile that lets her get away with it.  Suddenly aching for a voice from home, I flip open my cell and dial a number by heart.

“What did you do?”

“Hi to you, too, sis.”

“What did you do?”

“Why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Because, dearest little brother of mine, when you were in college, you’d always call me on Saturdays to tell me what dumbass thing you did on Friday.”

“No longer in college, you know, in case you didn’t hear.”

“Quit stalling.  What’s up?”

I spin my spoon around the table with my finger.  “Nothin’ much.  Just hanging out in Stamford for the day.”

“Connecticut?  What are you doing in Connecticut?”

“You haven’t talked to Mom lately, have you?”

“You mean have I heard how my house sucks, my job sucks, and how we're not going to be there for Thanksgiving?  No, haven’t had the chance to chat.”

“I’m, uhh, moving here.  Job promotion.”

“Jim, that’s great!  Why do you sound all mopey?”

“I’m not mopey.”

“You’re mopey.”

“Your face is mopey.”  I roll my eyes at my own pathetic comeback.

“Mature.  Seriously, though, are you just scared of moving or what?”

“Not so much scared as it is completely terrified.  And I’m not even really sure I’m doing it for the right reasons and—“

“I’m going to guess the next part of your story rhymes with ‘ham’”

“You’re good at this whole ‘my brother’s so pathetic thing.’”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to tease.  But Jim, this move sounds good.  I’ve known about it for two minutes and already it sounds a lot better than the situation you’re in now.”

I let out a deep sigh because really, she has no idea about the situation I’m in now.  The far worse, potentially illegal (what if she goes missing and winds up on Dateline?) situation.

Tink-a-link-a-link

Old man with a cane and an old-fashioned newspaper boy cap.  He moves slowly to a table, and by the warm callings of his name extended to him by the staff, I presume that it’s his regular table.  Familiar and claimed as his own after months, perhaps years, of sitting there.  Routine.  Tradition.  

“Still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Look, I don’t even really know why I—“

“Don’t apologize.  It’s half-time and I just got done giving my soccer mom pep talk to Maddy.”

I smile at the thought of my cleats-clad, nine-year-old niece.  

“Is Gary still coaching?”

“Not so much coaching as it is waving a clipboard around and buying ice cream for the team when they win.  Or don’t win.  I’m pretty sure he’s just in it for the ice cream.”

I laugh and I can feel the death grip on my heart release.

“Well, thanks for my pep talk, Larissa.  It helped.”

“No problem.  Let me know if you need help moving.  Oh, wait, real quick, Maddy did said the funniest thing yesterday—“

Tink-a-link-a-link

“Larissa, I have to call you back.”

“No, seriously, two seconds—“

“No, I really have to call you back.”  I drown out the rest of my sister’s protests with a click of the phone and sprint to the door.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

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