My mouth hangs loose when I take in the man joining me for dinner. If this were happening in a movie, I’ll have screamed “cliché”, but it was happening and all I wanted to do as memories of him flood back with a vengeance was clunk him over the head with crutches.
Angered at his audacity, I reflexively slam my palm on the table drawing attention to us. “You cannot waltz back into my life whenever it pleases you, Hamza. I have adjusted to a new life without you in it. Get out.”