“Your dad retired and he still lives in Lawrence,” I said. “Must be worse places.”
Dawn nodded vigorously. “I’ve lived in ‘em. But I got to New York somehow and met Howie. Every time we come to a restaurant like this, I feel so lucky.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and it turned chartreuse.
“You’d never have met me,” I said to Matteo. “If I wasn’t in your father’s class.”
“I’m having To Riots,” Howie said.
“That’s risotto,” Dawn said. “You don’t like risotto.”
“I’ll start with the Ape Opus, I guess,” I said. “Maybe Fenced Bore for the main?”
“Sounds better than Hot Toe Inhaled!” Howie said. Everyone laughed.
Matteo tapped his fingers on his thigh. Pinkie, middle, ring, index, middle, thumb. A song from a childhood piano lesson, burned into the neural pathway. My genitals swelled again, thinking of the light touch of his finger pads.
A grave waiter came. We all made laughing sounds as we ordered, covering our embarrassment. What silly fun!
“Dawn tells me you two had quite a time yesterday,” Howie said. “She said you had a vision or something?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I said.
“Matteo, you should’ve seen your wife,” Dawn said. “She was bawling for a half hour. I didn’t cry that hard when my mother died.” She shook her head.
The lights in the ceiling turned violet.
“It’s embarrassing, but I’m a little energy-sensitive,” I said.
Howie looked straight at Matteo and smirked. Matteo’s head tilted slightly. Because we were seated next to each other, I couldn’t see if Matteo had agreed to mock me. It was all I could do not to tell the story of Howie and his naked forearms.
“I’ve been praying all my life,” Dawn said. “And nothing like that ever happened.”
The violet color, instead of morphing into the next shade, poured down the white drapes and walls and began to spread across the cream-colored rug.