Overheard at Starbucks on 67th and Columbus Avenue

There was a little girl sitting across from a woman who could’ve been her mother. The woman’s phone rang, and she picked it up. “Hello?”

“Who’s that, Jilly?” the girl asked.

“Yeah. Where’s the entrance to the tram? Is that on 2^nd Avenue?”

A long pause ensued, during which time, the woman listened and the girl repeated over and over, “Who’s that, Jilly?”

“So I’ll text you when we get to the tram. You’re welcome. Bye.”

“Who’s that, Jilly? Is that my mommy or my daddy?” Nanny, then.

“That was Bret. You’re going to his house.”

“I want to go to Bret’s house now.”

“Good. We’ll pack up your snack and leave right now.” The girl got up and ran toward the door. “El,” the alleged nanny called. “Wait for me.”

“No! I’m going to Bret’s.”

“If you don’t wait for me, I’ll throw away your snack.”

“Noooooo.” It was the scream of a child in broken-leg-level pain.

“Then wait for me.” She left behind Travel Section of the Times, an empty box of chocolate milk, and a partially full bottle of San Pellegrino, like a shrine to her dragging life.