The waiter had taken the direction back into the kitchen. The dinner was a pretense, a sort of ceremony one upholds despite no one believing in it anymore. Old habits. Her face was lustrous from light rainfall, and hummed brightly under sconces of amberlight.
‘You didn’t order for me,’ she said.
‘Should I have?’
‘Are you asking me for advice? You’re the one who wanted to get dinner. I don’t usually do this sort of thing.’
‘Eat?’ A coy roll of the eyes that wasn’t a roll so much as it was a gesture upward.
‘Well, I figured you’d prefer someplace a little more discreet. With wives and social media and all.’
‘I don’t have a wife.’
‘I didn’t say you did. I guess I’m just surprised.’
‘It seemed out of place for me to order for you. You know, in light of the whole sexual liberation thing. Women finally ushered into the enlightened scaffolds of democracy.’
‘I don’t like to talk about it.’
‘Democracy?’
‘No, silly… you know. The sexual liberation or however you said it.’
‘Who doesn’t like talking about work?’
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