September 13, 2015

My dearest,

The café’s name has the word “coffee” in it but none of us orders any. I arrive first and refer to the Whatsapp message I received moments earlier to order for my friends. Creamy pasta with salmon. A teriyaki open-face sandwich. A pot of genmaicha.

It’s been a while since we had lunch together but with good friends, there’s no such thing as too long. You just catch up from where you last left off. One of us moves the separate ingredients of her sandwich all over the plate before reassembling them in an orderly fashion. We’ve seen this before; she’s a deconstructionist diner.

I’ve almost forgotten that she does this; it’s comforting rather than disconcerting to see her in action again.

Who knows what we talked about? Inconsequential things, probably. And that, oddly enough, is what matters.

A happy meal.

Yours, ever and always.