Hey

I saw the jacket first.

Across the room, before the face.

We both ordered. Both paid.

Both said hey—nothing else.

I took a table on the far side.

Held the cup in both hands

the way you do

when you don't know what else to do with them.

They didn't look over.

I didn't look over.

The cup went warm

and then cool

while I waited for something to surface—

grief, or wanting, or the clean sting

of embarrassment.

Something that would explain

why I was sitting

with my back against the wall.

Nothing came.

Or nothing came for a while,

and then something small did,

and by the time I'd gotten hold of it

they were already putting on the jacket,

already at the door.

And I sat there

with the cool cup

and the something I couldn't name

and the ordinary room

going about its business.

I keep trying to decide

if the nothing means I'm fine

or if the nothing is the thing

I should be worried about.

I haven't figured it out.