52/365 St. Louis, again, is too small

"Is that Leo's high chair?" Yvette asks me at the fish fry as she cleans tables.

"No," Becky answers, "Marguerite had it for Joel, but I don't know where they've headed off to."

"They're upstairs. I think my kids are up there, too." Yvette nods and moves on to the next tables. I sit down next to Becky and hold Leo on my lap while I wait for Sophia and Maeve to reappear.

"Bridgett, this is Randy," Becky introduces us. "He knows Bevin"

"How?" I ask, surprised. He seems vaguely familiar but I think it's from church.

"I poke holes in her."

"Ah."

"I'm a piercer." But I knew already. Bevin has quite a few piercings in quite a few places. "How are you related, again?" he asks.

"I'm her older sister."

"How come we've never met?"

I sigh. There are so many reasons.

"Have I met Bevin?" Becky looks at me with her head tilted. I describe Bevin:

"You know, superman black hair, long, gorgeous, very pale skin, blue eyes, as tall as me."

"Is she the one who likes vintage clothes?"

"They both do. They'll be here at Christmas, but usually not some other time."

"Leo's baptism?"

"Sure--she was the one drinking bourbon slush."

"Bridgett," Becky laughs. "Everyone was drinking bourbon slush. You were, Fr. Miguel was, everyone."

"True," I think back on that day.

Randy kisses Becky goodbye soon after and makes his way out. I ask her how she knows him.

"He played bass in my brother's band," she explains. "And I took him to a lot of things in high school. We dated briefly--he has the uncommon ability to remain really good friends with girls he dated."

"That is rare," I think about my exes.

And sitting there, watching Sophia and Maeve come down from the church where Marguerite was nursing baby Joel, listening to the Irish music warming up in front of me, I thought about the coincidence of Randy. I thought about the complete lack of anonymity I have now. It was kind of a cozy feeling, but also a bit smothering. They're always both there when I think about these things, about how small St. Louis is, how long I've been here, how I'm probably not leaving. Cozy and smothering like a fluffy fake fur blanket on a rainy February evening.