Chapter 24: A Table of My Own

"Yes," I said.

Caleb's shoulders came down.

"Yes to the futon?"

"Yes to the futon. Yes to Kyoto." I took the phone from his hand and read the email again. "Who picked the ryokan?"

"I did."

"You booked the one I booked."

"I called them," he said. "They still had the room. I figured you'd want it back."

"You planned a trip."

"It's one room and two nights, Carys."

"You're going to be so bad at it."

"I know," he said. "I'm counting on you to complain."

On Saturday I walked into a small Italian place near Washington Park at seven, and the host led me to a round table in the back.

It was a table for seven.

I did not sit at the end of the table, or by the door, where I could watch the waiter and the bill.

I took the seat in the middle with my back to the wall.

Megan sat down on my left in a clean sweater, with her badge still clipped to her pocket.

"You look different," she said.

"I look tired."

"You look like somebody who isn't doing the math."

"What math?"

"Who owes who. How much. Whether the bread is free."

I opened my mouth, and shut it, because it was true.

The woman with the fruit arrived with a bottle of wine, and the man with the hat arrived with another.

The friend who had walked down the table to Joss came in last, in a green coat, and hugged me for a long time.

My boss came through the door at seven fifteen, holding a small paper bag.

"It's a pastry," she said. "For the table. I don't want to be the only one who didn't bring anything."

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