Not tonight

Tomorrow we’re probably going to have to grow up again. We’re going to have to remember to pay the gas bill, to vote in the city election, and to wear matching socks. We’re going to have to get up with the alarm clock, go to work like responsible adults and get things done. There will be important things to get done. We’ll have to think about the walls that need painting, the dog that’s due for shots, and the people who depend on us.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, we can just sit at this table. We can just sit here and eat and drink and talk like there’s nowhere else to be. We can laugh and make jokes and remember that time three years ago when we had the very same conversation we’re having right now. We can ask questions, and share things we’ve never shared before, like the special place in our hearts for small towns, and the way it feels to finally accept your parents for who they are. We can find hilarity in the mundane and roll our eyes at those overly concerned about labels and cars and money. We can feel good about where we are. We can wonder about people who aren’t here, and laugh about that friend of ours that’s always in a bad mood. We can talk about kids and vacations and how neither of us will ever be able to sit still. We can talk about exes and currents and in-betweens, and why we just spent half our paychecks on airfare, never taking any of it seriously.

Tomorrow, we will have to take it seriously. We will have to get up and make it all work. We will have to act like we’ve got it all together. But not tonight.

Tonight, we can just sit here at this table.