“I saw Jimmy Clarke’s mom in the parking lot at the grocery store today.”
I don’t know where else she would have seen Jimmy Clarke’s mom. The parking lot at the grocery store is where they always talk about us.
“She asked about you. Jimmy’s still in Birmingham.”
The light changes, and I step off the curb. A bus roars by, and I can barely hear her.
“Jimmy’s not dating anybody; she says she’s just given up. I told her that you aren’t really dating anybody either.”
I walk around a girl with a tiny dog.
“And I told her I keep hoping that you two will end up in the same place.”
I roll my eyes, swerve around an old person, and nearly run into a thousand-dollar stroller.
“I told her you’d already joined that Facebook group for your 10-year class reunion and that at least you’ll see each other there.”
“Mom. Jimmy Clarke doesn’t talk. I’d just talk circles around him. Probably the only thing he’d say would be, ‘Be quiet.’”
“Sometimes. . . sometimes that’s just how things work.”