Kirsten drank too, but she'd never been much of a drinker. The beer caught in her throat and she coughed several times.
Peter grabbed a napkin and handed it to her, patting her back.
"Easy. Nobody's racing you."
Kirsten took the napkin, dabbed her lips, and smiled.
I watched them and thought the picture actually looked pretty good.
"Marlin." Peter poured another glass. "When you get over there, anything comes up, you call. Doesn't matter what time. My phone's always on."
"Sure."
Kirsten sat across from me, busy cooking things in the pot the whole time.
She started with the food, dipping it in and out with that quick bobbing motion to get it just right.
When it was done, she didn't put it in her own bowl. She picked it up with her chopsticks and set it in Peter's.
The gesture was effortless, so natural she didn't even realize she'd done it.
Peter didn't notice either. He just picked it up and ate.
Watching them, I suddenly remembered the way she used to serve me food in our past life.
Every time, she would ask me first what I wanted, then place it in my bowl. There was always a careful, polite deliberateness to it.
Nothing like this. No words.
Just reaching over and placing it there.