FOURTEEN
November 2001
After my visit to the pier, I took a subway to Wall Street and wandered around aimlessly. In the glass pane of a Starbucks, I stared at the new me––
bold, unabashed, sans the veil that I had retired within.
I slipped in and ordered a grande coffee of the day. It was too strong, and I drank it too quickly, burning my lips. I never liked putting the lid on the cup and sipping from the tiny opening. When I left, I carried the coffee with me even though it was tepid by now, an oily film on its surface that trembled as I walked. My baby stretched within me as the caffeine jolted him awake. I patted my stomach lightly.
“Good morning, little king,” I whispered. “It’s a bright, new day.”
I sat on the steps of the Federal Hall National Memorial, right next to a large st
