"Mommy, is that mine?" she asked.
She looked to be about my sister's age.
"No, honey, that's a latte. It's not for you."
"I want a latte, too!"
The mother sent an indulgent smile the barista's way.
"One kids' hot chocolate, please."
The barista, a young woman who could've been in high school or college, turned with a grin and started preparing the drink.
"Hey, Mom?" the girl asked in a singsong voice. It seemed like if she stayed silent for too long she'd start vibrating with energy.
"What do you want me to be when I get older?"
Her well-dressed mother thought.
"You mean, for a job?"
"Well, honey, I want you to be what you want to be. I want you to do whatever makes you happy."
I failed to suppress a smile and hoped the mother didn't think I was some odd-ball eavesdropping on their conversation. The barista handed me my frappuccino and I was still smiling when I walked out the door.