Grace wiped a tear from her eyes. Of the two children, it was Rory she was always worried about. He seemed awkward, not quite, made for this world. Out of sorts is the expression she often used, if only to herself, as she guided him through life.
Through the car window, she watched as he glided between the outside tables. He'd vanish inside the corner cafe before emerging again with three lattes. The people smiled at him, appreciative.
Rory stops by a table, bending down to talk to a child who was making a mess of a babycino. The mother laughs at something Rory said. That was what brought a tear to her eye.
Her son, the one she had been worried about, seemed to have found his place in the world. He had a bounce in his step as he scrapped some leftovers onto another plate before effortlessly stacking up a range of plates, cutlery, and cups and disappearing into the bowels of the cafe.
Grace was about to dial Peter's number when she realised that was something she didn't do anymore. She wanted to tell him he was right. All they needed to do was wait. Their son would find his place in the world.
Rory came out into the sunlight with two coffees in hand, but without his leather apron. A girl was in tow, also dressed as if she worked there.
They sat by the wall on two overturned milk crates. They leaned into one another to talk and Grace immediately recognised the look her son gave the girl. It was the same look Peter gave her in those early days of their relationship. Rory had a curve in his dimples, just like his father had.
Grace hoped the girl fell in love with Rory's dimples, just as she had for his father's.