The late spring sunshine is just warm enough to tingle against their skin on a busy Sunday morning. There’s the hum of people going about their lives in the background, an ambient noise that fills the momentary lull in conversation as they sit at a wrought iron table outside of Starbucks.

She taps her fingers nervously against the cool metal surface while droplets of condensation rolls off the melting midnight mocha frappuccino. It’s a strange feeling, to be so nervous and comfortable at the same time. A juxtaposition.

Juxtapositions are her favorite, the mixing of opposites. A contrast between two opposing sides made evident by being placed together.

In a way, they are a juxtaposition.

He a tall white male with blue eyes and a raucous laugh, she a plain Asian girl with a reserved smile.

But here they were, sitting in the sun outside a Starbucks on a beautiful day. Years of friendship between them.

He’s leaving soon and it’s almost too much to bear.  It feels she’s losing a part of herself and in a way, she supposes it’s true.

One by one, the core group either left, got reassigned or got married and he was the last one of the original group of boys that she’d met the first time she went to Mahwah Chinese all those years ago.

It’s bittersweet. Another juxtaposition.

In a way, it’s appropriate, she muses. After all, she was in her early twenties when she’d moved to Chinese. Now at 29, it’s about time she finally matured, found her own place, an identify separate from those of her friends.

But it doesn’t hurt any less that she’s losing him, too. One of the last vestiges of her twenties.