The weather was beautiful a few nights ago, and when I got home from work, Mike mixed up a drink and we sat out on the stoop to enjoy the early spring air and waning sunshine.
Maria Julia, our neighbor two doors down, was out walking Kimbo, one of her sweet old dogs. They ambled up the street, fuzzy mop-like dog leading the way, and they stopped in front of our gate so Kimbo could sniff sniff sniff at the tree in front. We chatted, as we do, about the weather and other things, and Maria Julia said to us, pointing her finger in a teasingly assertive way, “You can’t move! You need to stay here!”
And it was at that point we had to tell her. “… but we are” I said. She looked at us, hands on her hips, and Mike said “We’re moving. Next month.” She got this dejected look on her face and said “Ah.” Then raised her hands toward us as if to blow us kisses and said “I love you!”
She wished us good night and continued walking the dog.
We finished our drinks and went back inside.
The lump in my throat hasn’t quite gone away yet.
