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It was still winter, a month or so after I�d screamed at you to stay out of my life for good. You�d respected that, which surprised me a little bit,, though I assumed that meant you were living out some version of happily ever after with Amanda. I tried not to give it too much thought. I was �moving on.� Whatever that meant.
I think it was Chris who joined me for breakfast that morning. My memories of that day on most things other than you are a little hazy. We had just arrived at Bella Luna to find them closed, with no brunch in sight, when you walked up. I think your Chris and Heather were with you, along with other people? Again, I don�t remember the rest of the crowd too clearly. Just you.
You�d gotten a haircut and had on a jacket I�d never seen before. You smiled when you saw me and I forgot, for just a moment, why I�d ever been angry with you. We told you Bella Luna was closed. A short group discussion led us across the street to Sorento�s to join the line. Chris said quietly to me as we walked, �we don�t HAVE to go, Jennifer. We don�t need to eat with them if you don�t want to.� He was afraid you were too much for me. It was too late, though. It had been too late as soon as I saw you walk up.
We stood in line for half an hour, waiting for a table. You showed me your newly acquired cellphone. I was duly impressed. We talked about school and work and music and a thousand other little things that were acceptable conversation for the line outside Sorento�s. It was cold. I had to restrain myself from putting my arms around you to keep warm, seeking out some familiar comfort in the chill.
Inside, we sat at a large table in the upstairs room. We chose chairs next to each other. The people with us watched, holding back the comments I�m sure were piling up in their heads. At some point, we made some sort of wager. You gave me a dollar. Nervously, I rolled it into a small, tight cylinder. The dollar is still in the keepsake box on my dresser, unspent, rolled up, waiting.
Heather ordered the gingerbread pancakes and didn�t like them. They turned out to actually be made of gingerbread batter. This surprised no one but her. You finished my eggs. Just like old times.
I pulled out my Chapstick, cherry flavor. You pulled out yours, the medicated kind that makes your lips tingle when you use it. You suggested we trade. I laughed, but you were serious. We exchanged tubes, slipping them back in our pockets.
Breakfast over, we all split the bill and stood up to leave. Saying goodbye to you was hard. We exchanged a clumsy hug and were pulled away by the people we�d brought along in the first place.
The proverbial ice had been broken. I was done wishing you out of my life.
I still have that Chapstick. It�s just about gone now, even with the top of the turned-up tube. I have to use my fingertip to put it on. It still makes my lips tingle.
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