The crab cakes were beyond compare, as were the individual entrees. If there was one thing that could have been improved, it was the fluorescent lighting over our heads. But since this dinner was in the middle of a corner grocery, it could be forgiven. Most of all the company was beyond compare.
We hadn't seen Betts in months. She was only back in town in order to say the formal goodbyes she put off last year. When her decision was finally made to stay in Colorado near her mother, things began to fall into place for her. The four of us were relaxed in each others' company, and that comfort transferred easily to the banter at the table. The conversation flowed from textiles; to animation; to music; to the abundance of crystal meth in rural areas; to stories of bad dinners in more upscale places. Did I mention the crab cakes were amazing?
We closed the place, having finally left the grocery long after the stoves had cooled. It was a crisp spring night, so Betts and I headed over to the bar down the street for nightcaps, which turned into four rounds served by a Polish girl who was rocking some serious cuteness behind the bar. Polaroids were snapped and shaken; the jukebox finally made it through the twenty tunes I picked. We drained our shot glasses and headed out into the night. Betts was feeling no pain and leaned on me as we made our way back to my place.
I woke up the following morning. Betts set up camp on my couch, so I tiptoed around and whipped up some breakfast. Betts woke up to the sound of me steaming milk. We ate in the silence that only good friends can appreciate. When Betts finally left, her presence was replaced by high winds and falling temperatures. I don't think it was a coincidence. I can still hear her waxing on about the flat top mountains of Grand Junction and how beautiful Colorado is in spring.
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