Fleeting

The bulging biceps, the deep voice and the new whiskers emerging under the chin throw me off a little. So does the prestigious internship in the city, the deposit on an apartment and nights out that end just before dawn.

E., stretched out in bed, his massive arms cradling his sleepy blond head, asks me to make him French toast for breakfast; while R. coyly accepts my offer to pack her a lunch and drive her to the train.

She has spent the past year fending for herself, independently and capably. He is not far behind. And yet, as school winds down and summer revs up, they soften, let down their guard, and allow themselves to need me.

Who knows why. Maybe they're exhausted and want tender loving care. Maybe they feel, as do I, the curtain closing on this chapter of our lives.

The reasons don't matter. They still need me. And I still need their need.

I make French toast, pack a turkey sandwich, ferry to and from the train. 

All the things that felt so demanding when they were both here full time, now feel like precious, fleeting opportunities.

I grab them. Because in a blink, they’ll be gone.