We Met at a Diner on 5th Street.
Faded red booths. Dusty jukebox in the corner.
He looked older. Tired. Gray in his beard. But his eyes hadn’t changed.
“Hi,” he said, like he wasn’t sure I’d stay.
“Hi,” I replied.
He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t deflect.
“I messed up,” he said. “I thought you’d all be better off without me. Then time passed, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”
I told him about Marcus.
About the parade.
About the drawing.
His hands shook.
“I think he wants to meet you,” I said. “But I don’t know how Mom will react.”
“I’m not here to make trouble,” he said. “If all I ever get is a chance to say sorry… I’ll take it.”
But I knew Marcus needed more than an apology.
