Thursday Night Magic

We took the girls to Marie Catrib's for dessert on Thursday night,
everyone bundled in forty layers
to brave the sub-zero temperatures.
Inside, people talked in corners,
cooks clanged pots together,
waitresses carried trays full of steaming soup.

We led the girls over to the dessert case:
chocolate pudding, bread pudding, cookies, pumpkin pot au creme, chocolate cake, coconut cake, brownies.
They stood, puffy in their boots and coats,
their noses pressed against the glass, their eyes wide.
"I want pudding," said Annie.
"Me! Chocolate!" yelled Jemma.
We chose our treats, then sat down at a table for four,
shedding our layers. We waited.
We watched the waiter bring our choices, set them down one by one, give us extra napkins.
We took slow, small bites.
We shared.

Marie dandled a baby on her hip, spied us, came over to say hello.
"Baby Andrew!" she introduced. The baby smiled uncertainly.
"Your chocolate pudding is the best," said Jason. Marie nodded.
"Yes," she said.
"How do you make it?" Jason persisted.
"Magic."
We all fought
a little
over the last bite
then put our layers back on,
clomped to the car
with a little magic in our tummies.