“The invitation remains valid,” I said.
“The execution has failed.”
I led her to Mabel’s, a diner six blocks away that rejected reservations and served breakfast without regard for time. Amy opened the menu.
“It is eight.”
“Night pancakes.”
“This is not a date.”
“Definitely not.”
The server approached. Amy ordered blueberry pancakes, eggs, and coffee. I ordered the largest breakfast combination and extra hot sauce. When the server left, silence settled. At the gym, silence rarely lasted. There were always instructions, jokes,weights, timers. Here, nothing required us to speak. That made me want to.
“How do your legs feel?” I asked.
“Tired.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
The server set two coffees between us, and Amy shifted her knees beneath the table with careful precision. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“I scheduled mobility and a walk.”
“Good.”
“I also scheduled meal preparation.”
“Of course.”
She stirred oat milk into her coffee. “What do you do on Sundays?”
“Family dinner when Gloria guilts me.”
“You invited me.”
“Lola invited you. Gloria enabled her.”
“You agreed.”
“I did.” The diner noise seemed to recede as she traced one finger around the rim of her mug. “Are we telling Gloria?” Amy asked.
“She and Lola think we are dating.”
“I do not want a child involved in a lie.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then tell Gloria privately before Sunday.”
I turned my phone facedown. “She will ask questions.”
“You use food as emotional postponement.”
“I was hoping for pancakes first.”
