I had arrived early for a late lunch at the diner.

As I sat at the table, waiting for my friend – a woman, like me, whose children were all of a sudden grown – I exhaled. It was a spur-of-the-moment meal. The kind of thing we usually say we will do, but never schedule. Until one day, in some unspoken alignment brought together by random texts bearing silly jokes, we set a date and see it through.

My stomach growled as I looked over the menu.

I would order the same thing I always order: Swiss cheese omelet with rye toast. No jam. Hot sauce, please. She has no usual. When my friend arrives, I know she will make a game-day decision.

The server brings me coffee.

When she walks in a few minutes later, the room will come to life. Her voice........

© The Saratogian