Dim Sum

After one last pregnancy test, she returned to her seat to find that the cart with the egg custard tarts had passed their table and was now across the room being hounded by unwashed hands, and as her husband snapped his fingers for the check, she felt a hankering from being left slightly hungry after every meal for several years, never enough to complain but enough to remind her of her empty stomach, so she stood and shook the table, dodged the crowd, and took what was hers before everything was carted away; she sat across from him, and looking down at her napkin, nibbled on the rich, tissue paper crust of the custard like a mother squirrel, saving and preserving before the cold came through.