Stolen Moments

I confess: I was trying to steal a moment for myself. Chloé has an early rehearsal this morning and there isn’t enough time to make it worth driving all the way home and back, so I go to the local boulangerie for a café au lait and a tartine, hoping to sneak in a few pages of my current book.

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it? Are you going to get out and enjoy it?” The man sitting at the table to my right is obviously hungry for conversation. Yes, I tell him, there will be a soccer game and a jaunt to the city and a dozen other things, what with four kids to amuse. “I hope you make the most of it. I wasn’t there for my son when he was young; I was working too much. Now I spoil my grandson instead.” I wonder, in his grown son’s mind, if that really makes up for lost time.

On my left sits a family of three, round and perfectly matched like a set of Russian matryoshka dolls. There are so many pasties on their table I’m afraid it might capsize. The well-dressed boy asks his mother, “Mommy, why are there pickles on your plate?” She feigns a European accent and says, “They gave them to me because I am so pr-r-r-e-e-e-ty!” She’s not what you might consider attractive, but the mirthful expression on her face and the way she trills her “r” make her beautiful.

Suddenly it’s time to go, and I haven’t even cracked the cover of the novel in my bag. The man next to me says, “Do me a favor, will you? Have a wonderful day!” I smile. My pilfered time has been snatched away from me, but I’ve received something in return: the gentle reminder that the numbered days with your children should never be taken for granted, and that life is exactly what you make of it. I can always read later, if I can steal a moment…