Sunday morning at Tim Hortons and I’m trying to mind my own business.

Coffee smell. Grey light through the window. Three women at the next table, all solidly middle-aged, talking loud enough that minding my own business becomes impossible.

They weren’t born yesterday. Fleece vest. Rings. Reading glasses. Phones facedown beside the coffee. Women who’ve already raised kids, buried pets, and survived men.

Then Fleece Vest says:

“I’m just saying, if you had to pick.”

Her friend looks up from her phone. “Pick what?”

“Lord of the Rings. Hottest one.”

My ears wake up.

“Legolas.”

Fleece recoils.

“Legolas?”

“Absolutely. Look at him.”

“Too pretty.”

“That’s the point.”

“He looks like a doll.”

“He looks like a very pretty doll with a bow.”

Now they’re both grinning.

Fleece shakes her head.

“Aragorn. The cloak. The sword. That’s a man.”

Phone isn’t moving an inch.

“Nope. Legolas.”

Jesus. It’s 9AM. We got our own Battle for Middle-Earth going on.

Fleece gives her another look.

“You can’t trust a man that pretty. My daughter dated a guy like that. Nightmare.”

Phone shrugs.

“Still Legolas.”

Fleece makes a face like she just bit into something bad.

Then they turn on Linda.

Linda has been stirring her coffee through all of this. Slow circles. Eyes down. Linda looks tired in a way sleep probably doesn’t fix.

“What about you, Linda?”

Nothing.

“Linda.”

“Mm?”

“Aragorn or Legolas?”

She stops stirring. Thinks. Shrugs.

“Gimli, I guess.”

Fleece Vest chokes. Phone drops her phone onto the table. I nearly lose my coffee.

“The dwarf?”

“Sure.”

“Linda, that’s sick.”

“He’s shaped like a fire hydrant!”

Linda doesn’t care.

“He’s funny.”

“Funny?”

“And loyal. He’d stick around.”

Fleece pauses.

“You’re picking Gimli because he’d stick around?”

Linda takes a sip.

“Nowadays? That counts for a lot.”

Now I’m looking into my cup because if I make eye contact with anybody I’m finished.

Phone leans toward Fleece.

“Something’s wrong with her.”

“Ever since the divorce.”

Linda takes a sip.

“It’s not the divorce.”

“It’s definitely the divorce.”

There’s a little silence.

Then Linda shrugs again.

“He’d be warm in winter. That’s all I’m saying.”

That kills me.

Fleece Vest stands up with her cup.

“I’m getting a refill. And I’m not sitting next to her anymore.”

Phone starts laughing.

Linda doesn’t.

She just keeps drinking, calm as hell, like the matter has been settled.