The Millbrook cafe was still the same after six years.
I lived three blocks away from there when I was twenty-two.
Back then, I used to come here almost every morning and sit in this booth. I felt more like myself than anywhere I had ever been.
Sitting here again made me realize how time flies.
I ordered a cup of coffee and waited.
Iris was nine minutes late, for her she was basically on time. She came through the door adjusting her scarf, saw me, and went straight to my table.
She didn’t say hello at first.
She just looked at me.
I had known that look all my life, for a split second, she observed me thoroughly, quiet and steady, seeing more than I wanted her to. Only Iris could do that.
She’d known me too long to be fooled by whatever version of myself I was trying to be here.
