To fill in some of the gaps, Ann’s loss was about nine years ago. When she came home a couple of days later, her feral women-folks refused to let us see or speak to her. She needs her rest. Whatever, bitch. I never heard another word about Ann’s loss. I don’t think she had the strength to fight her family or if she even wanted to. Apparently, the decision was made that Ann would return home to Louisiana. We didn’t know of her departure until a few days after she was gone, which was somewhere in the second or third week post-delivery.
A few years ago, I was startled to find Ann passing my bags to me at the drive-thru. Not wanting to hold up lunch-rush traffic, I had just enough time to learn that she had moved back here earlier the same year and was one of the restaurant’s managers. We exchanged simultaneous good-to-see-yous!, and that was that.
Today, just as I was handed my nuggets and fries I heard someone from behind me say, “Moxie! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Given last night’s post, I came that close to exclaiming, “Holy shit!” when I turned to see that it was Ann. From behind her peeked a thigh-high braided moppet who danced from foot to foot and tugged on Ann’s shirt, inquiring when, just when, was she going to get her cheeseburger with no pickles.
“Because they’re green and look like big boogers,” the little one squeaked.
“She’s three,” Ann said with an amused air. “And her brother – he’s at home – is almost six.”
This time, we exchanged phone numbers and made preliminary playdate plans.