December 25, 2008
He’s back. Which doesn’t mean I’ve been obsessing about him for a year, it just means you never forget the first guy that blows his nose into your T-shirt on Christmas morning. Trust me on this.
He’s wearing the same slip-on canvas shoes, and if it’s not the same hoodie he had on last Christmas, it’s the same color and from the same store. He’s about a month overdue for a haircut, so he’s got bangs everywhere, just like he did before. Guy’s definitely got his style.
Not that I look so different, behind the same counter, fixing the same coffee. I’m probably wearing the same jeans—my tan ones—which, if I do say so myself, means if he doesn’t remember my face, my butt will jog his memory.
He remembers something. “Oh, hey,” he says. “You’re you.”
“I’m somebody, anyhow.”
