Desert After A Haidus

“I don’t believe in resolutions.” They followed their waitress to the booth between a family and an elderly man sipping coffee alone with his newspaper. Mid-day.

He laughed, “Who doesn’t believe in new year’s resolutions? No one’s twisting your arm to keep them, look at it as a strengthening of your own self-discipline.”

She scanned the menu, not much had changed in the six years she’d been away of what was once home. Including his sarcasm. The prices went up a bit and she spotted some new additions, but as for the taste? Much like people and their promises; the proof was in the pudding.

“It’s good to have you home you know. Good to see you again.” His tone had changed and as she smoothed her pants to keep from his gaze, she felt the tension beginning; that familiar tension between them that had made its home during their phone calls and emails. No amount of space can break the strongest ties in life. She finally met his gaze. Scanned over this GQ at-her-hands- man, with his $450 boots up to his Victorinox blazer, and a priceless sadness in his eyes. “I guess it’s good to be home.”


He smiled. She remembered her reasons for leaving. A malted mix of heartache, excuses and wiping tears from her rooftop, away from the jungle below. “New Years are symbolic of 2nd chances, amor. Nothing like a second chance and trust me, we’ve all needed them and had them in life mija.” Her mother had told her this just before hanging up the phone last night. She could take this meal or walk away and let loose ends fall to the floor, as they sometimes did.

“And for you miss?” Their waitress had arrived. Looking up to both of their gazes it was if they both were asking. “Leave? Or stay?”

She ordered. He smiled again. “So let’s try this again….what’s your new year’s resolution?”

“Pudding.”