Their eyes do not meet. In one smooth movement he slides his arms into his Armani overcoat and turns toward the door. Their last shared words slip away with little fanfare.
Cooks clank dishes, servers make conversation. She does not hear these noises before; now they fill her new silence. She sits motionless as the last eight years of her life depart into the rain with no umbrella.
She unclasps her updo and shakes her head to loosen the curls. In silence she finishes her coffee. She’ll have time enough to ruminate the rupture, tweaking each revision for different outcomes. But for now she slides his plate across the table, and bites into the sticky sweetness of the Danish he left. A server passes as she licks her sugared fingers one by one. Nodding to her empty cup she asks, “Can I get a refill, please?”
Photo attribution: gluten free canteen