Waify smoke strands spiral skyward off the lit end of my cigarette. Inhaling the tobacco tar scars the dull dead lung cells that I've accumulated over the years. Exhaling pummels my awaiting fingers with the stale odor of an old man's ashtray. Birds try valiantly to pipe their siren song over the morning traffic. My fiancée peddles beauty to onlookers in sly glances and pampered smiles. Her mannerisms steadily approach a point where all her efforts focus on garnering attention. Clicking my right glinting, silver cufflink against the polished glass dining table creates a rhythm for me to ponder the vibration of my cellular phone.

Her discussion with the pristine young waiter takes a turn I cannot translate as my French is on par with that of an uninterested grade school child. Taking the trembling device into my right palm I revisit the question at hand. It carefully points out in fixed block letters that I have one new message in the form of a literary advance. The news must be of business which is a sorrowful burden at the moment. Inhaling flares out my irises. Exhaling calms my shutter and imprisons my optical nerves behind their respective eyelids.

As if awaking from a lengthy slumber the environment greets me again with reality's frosty demeanor. Existence plods along like an agonizing march of snails. The gentle breeze culls together loose hairs and swirls them around my scalp. My nostrils fill with the chalky, seasoned coffee bean aroma emanating from my cup. Sipping it produces a void were refreshment had once settled brown and welcoming. Motioning for the server would do little good since he's slobbering knee deep in my love's doe green stare. I lapse into a controlled muddlement and fondle irreverence.

Dipping into a deteriorated form of courage I place my right thumb under the flip up fold of the phone opening it. The mechanical screen challenges me with view it now or save it for later options. Pressing the opaque blue ok button signals its inner hardware to my intention of viewing now. Inhaling catches my breath and throttles it sideways hard against my chest wall. Exhaling comes involuntary from the various stages of choking.

Written plainly and effortlessly in readable English Times New Roman are the words 'your a grandfather, from mary, please contact us soon'. Besides the obvious errors in grammar another thing struck me. How in the world could my leech like ex-wife have gotten my number? My stunned regard edged upward to the woman who now wore my ring and then back to the magnificent technology that connected me to the daughter I had marooned disheartened stateside. Inhaling takes the edge off the insuppressible disbelief that followed my inane initial reaction. Exhaling comes out harsh and segmented.

Suddenly a wave of beatitude courses unmistakably outward quivering my extremities. Daylight beams nimbly westward wrapping under the overhang and warming my astonished hands. The Paris noon facilitates a dawning of emotional response. That last afternoon in the airport resonates in me. My daughter's golden hair brushing around her shoulders as she wishes me goodbye. Her youthful facade kept alive by my treating her only as a child. That crispy autumn day where I now realize I gazed upon her for the final time as a nestling. Motherhood will surely crown her face in a maternal glow I cannot smear or distort. Never did she disclose to me what must surely have been growing inside her at that point. She solely gave me a reassured glance that everything I had thrust upon our doleful family unit was alright with her. Inhaling hushes the goose bumps that had risen during my remembrance. Exhaling fosters a longing for the serenity I assume I once had.

My fiancée's apple sweet aura spices the thoughts I ponder. Her body too is young enough to bare a child without any aging complications. Yet the ramifications of such would leave me again just a father and would not reach the grand honor that had just been bestowed upon me. I wonder if it cries or is silent. I contemplate if it's a boy or a girl. I deliberate if I was left out or forgotten. I speculate if they'll marry or stay committed. I puzzle what I am doing.

Standing does not take my companion's attention. Pacing ever so slowing in thought out, assured steps I make my way to the metal fence. One more drag to dull the jittering. While leaning on the boundary of the bistro the thought that I should return back to where I can understand simple linguistic comprehension flirts temptingly. Questions arise but I try to avoid them. Uttering aloud I mouth 'grandfather'. The birds respond 'congratulations'; in a raspy, revengeful tone because I never listened.

Lifting the cigarette still occupying the space between my left index finger and my left middle finger it exudes more importance than originally. Smoke pulses from the filter lingering temporarily until it whisks away. In an action I have no rational for I push my left thumb to plug the outpouring. Withdrawing it draws the exhaust to rest like a smoke stack on my fingertip. I wait cheerful but unsure until the sight dwindles, leaving only what has been.