Thursday After Six

"So, we are going to El Forolito tonight. For dinner?" Liz asks.  

"Yeah. Mexican food sounds good." I answer. 

It's Thursday.

Family dinner night. 

Not always, but usually.

Liz.

With Chris, her thank goodness he's a kind soul boyfriend.

Roberto.

Brad.

Me.

It's my night to not feel guilty that I lack Chef Rudy's culinary skills the rest of the week.

The menu is abundant with choices. Choices that make the kids happy. Satiated.

"Hey, it's on Bradford Avenue!" Bradford admonishes.

"Your street," I state. "Dad and I were married just up the street. At the House on Bradford Ave. It's the reason you were given your name. Your surname as a first name."

Brad smiles. He knows.

Food is great. Conversation is overflowing.

On the drive home, we pass the old Victorian where Rudy and I married many years ago.
A warm feeling engulfs me. 
Soothes my heart.

These nights are our nights. 
For the kids. 
For me. 
To laugh, sing, and seat dance. 
In the car.

Seriously fun.

I feel youthful with the youthfulness in the car.

Music is loud.

Singing escapes through the open windows.
Into the night air.

I hold the steering wheel. 
Rock to the latest tunes. 
Jutting my arms out straight. 
One at a time. 

Dancing. While driving.
To the beat of the songs.

They raise their arms. 

Swing their heads. 
Rock their bodies. 
The kids do. 
To their music.

On these nights life seems right.

Normal.

Just as I want it to be.

Stress-free.

Enjoying one night a week with my two grown busy in their own lives kids.

And with my constant companion. Brad. 

Thursday evening.

After six.