Light floods everything. It is a room of bright carpet and no shadow and the sound of clattering trays. Aunt Jessica brightens at our approach. Being formal and stiff from her mother’s German side of the family, she does not rise to embrace me, but you can tell she is glad to see me and her rebuke is only mild and teasing.

Well if it isn’t the bad boy himself, she says. I’d spank you if you weren’t so old. It seems like nobody else in this family has the spine to.

She blows cigarette smoke over her shoulder. A year ago she might have reached over and pinched my cheek, an alarming habit to witness in an upright lady like her, and although now she keeps back you can tell she feels the impulse. She blames my mother’s softheartedness for Tomas’s behavior, and now mine, and has decided to latch herself onto my mother to get us better disciplined, though she complains that since she is not our mother it is nearly impossible and anyway she sees me as a different and more delicate case than Tomas.

So go ahead and sit down, she says, patting the seat beside her.

Her gesture must seem strangely formal to Stone, who has been standing aside, not sure where he fits in this conversation.

She notices him for the first time, and they exchange greetings. Then she invites him to sit opposite us.

If only he would leave. Sometimes if you will a thought hard enough it will happen; but not now. She thanks him for showing such concern for me. My heart sinks when she offers to buy him dinner, waving a waitress over for a menu before he can either accept or decline.

My head crumbles into my shoulders and I peer into my folded hands.

It’s late, I say. Maybe he has to get home soon.

This sounds rude, I can tell, and both of them stare at me. With my eyes closed now I can feel the room’s noise vibrating in the table—the people talking and laughing and the plates and silverware and even distinct clattering from the open kitchen.

Don’t talk silly, Gabe, she says dismissively. The man has to eat. Besides he’s going to get a nice tip. She looks away to blow a curl of smoke that glows in the fluorescent light.

Stone looks down at his fingers, blushing, and he fumbles a few weak words of protest. Despite her refinement, my aunt was trained as a lawyer and she can be impatient with social niceties and sometimes speaks very bluntly. My cheeks burn.

At any time Mom could be back. I look over my shoulder once or twice, towards the hall that leads to the phones and rest rooms, but she is not in sight.