68

“I wish things were different." 

"Yes, me too.”

“That’s okay. Right?”

“I guess. Yes.”

“Okay. As long as you say so.”

They did not sit underneath the umbrella. He picked a table in the sun. It was grated and he ran his knuckles across as he talked. His hands were cracked, hers too. She wore gloves. 

“I’ll have a whisky.”

“What can I get you?”

Something pink.

“I’ll have a whisky.”

His smock in the wind marked his departure. The man thought they had talked about everything important. 

“Call me if you need to." 

He thumped his hand against the table. 

"I take it back.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me." 

Wouldn’t it be easier if I straightened my tie and left with that. A tip of the hat from her wide brim and a sigh from the waiter. 

"You do not mean that." 

"What are the right words?”

“Anything but those. I guess that is not true. Just not that.”

Whisky for them both and whisky to their lips. He thought of a birthday cheer.