It’s not her. I’ve been here half the morning, and I’m beginning to think she’s not going to show. Honestly, I’m not sure I can handle another cup of coffee. My hands are starting to shake. This much caffeine can’t be good. The door opens again, and a rush of cold air sweeps through. And there she is, wearing her gargantuan brown jacket, knit cap, and cutoff gloves. She’s also holding a large white, plastic garment bag. I watch as she takes her place in line. Now I don’t know what to do. Do I wait for her to see me? What if she doesn’t? Do I call to her across the coffee shop, or approach her? Or do I pretend to bump into her? I’m so wrapped up in my own head that it takes a minute for me to realize she’s looking at me. When our eyes connect, she smiles and waves with her free hand. Well, that was easier than I anticipated. Hi, I mouth, trying to appear casual. I point to the bag with a questioning look.
