What We Ate That Night

The restaurant was called Toro, a pretentious steakhouselive downtown where suits came to feel powerful. Elena sat across from me, slicing into her spinach salad with surgical precision. We hadn't spoken since the funeral.

"You look good," she said, and I almost laughed. I'd spent three months drowning in freelance gigs and cheap whiskey. But friendship—real friendship—sometimes requires polite fictions.

"Work's been a bear," I said finally. "But I'm managing."

Her eyes flicked to my left hand. No ring. She'd noticed. I'd noticed her noticing.

"The job at Merrill Lynch?" I asked, changing the subject.

"It's everything I hated about corporate law, but triple the salary." She speared a palm heart from her salad. "They've got me managing the IPO for this ag-tech startup. Complete bullshit, honestly. The CEO's this twenty-five year old who thinks he's reinventing farming. He calls himself a 'disruptor.'"

"Like a bull in a china shop?"

"Worse. A bull who thinks he's a poet." She signaled the waiter for another glass of wine. "Anyway, how's Michael?"

The name landed like a stone in still water. I'd waited for this.

"We're done," I said. "He moved out last month."

Her knife paused. Then she reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. Her palm was warm, grounding.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really am."

"Don't be. It was dead weight." I took a breath. "He got offered a position in Chicago. Asked me to go. I couldn't leave my mother here, not with—"

"Not with everything happening."

"Right."

She nodded, understanding. Some griefs don't need explanation.

"You know," she said, "I have this client. Older guy. Lost his wife last year. He told me something once. He said grief is like spinach. You can chew it down, swallow it whole, but it still leaves a taste in your mouth that doesn't go away."

I laughed despite myself. "That's terrible."

"It is. But I keep thinking about it." She finished her wine. "Anyway. To new beginnings?"

"To whatever comes next."

We clinked glasses. Outside, the city hummed with indifferent traffic, people going places, leaving things behind. But here, in this too-expensive restaurant with its pretentious portions and silent judgments, we were exactly where we needed to be—alive, present, and hungry.