I wrap my hands around each side of my chair and shift it forward. The movement swings my pendant necklace forward into the froth of my coffee, and back against my top. Too early for the café to be fully set up, there are no serviettes on the tables. I remember a half used tissue in my handbag and fish it out, all the while holding my dripping necklace aloft. I wipe down the pendant and dab at my shirt. There is still a slight mark, white and fibrous from the tissue. I recall the water station around the corner and place my bag on top of the table so I can keep an eye on it and have it secure my place while I go get some. I note a pile of paper napkins on the opposite bench and return to the table with both items. I apply the smallest amount of water to the corner of the napkin and pat away the remains of the tissue. It looks as good as new or, at least, good enough. Crisis averted.
writer, reader, editor, dreamer
