But it changed the shape of our anger.
Later, Millie’s formed a partnership with the hospice. Once a month, the diner served free breakfasts to patients’ families.
We did not rename the restaurant after Nathan.
We left the corner booth unchanged.
On my birthday, I arrived before opening and found Eric sitting there with two slices of apple pie.
“I suppose he finally got his table for two,” Eric said.
I looked at the empty seat across from him.
Nathan had manipulated me and denied me the chance to confront him. Missing me for years did not repair his first choice.
But the six weeks we shared had also been real.
Love did not erase anger.
Anger did not make love false.
I pulled a third chair toward the table.
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t get to decide who belongs here.”
Eric studied the chair, then moved over and sat beside me.
Before the doors opened, he placed Nathan’s unopened letter on the table.
“I still haven’t read it.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what he’ll ask me to forgive.”
“You don’t have to read it today.”
For once, neither of us allowed Nathan to control the timing.
We sat together until Rosa switched on the lights. In the window, three chairs appeared side by side.
Families from the hospice began entering.
Nathan’s slice of pie remained in the centre of the table.
Rosa looked at the three chairs, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned with one more fork.
