Kalea keeps her eyes on me. “Have you?”

“No.”

“When I asked Bryce,” says Kalea, “he said the same thing.”

“We agreed to put that behind us.” Bryce slumps in the chair and crosses his arms on his chest. “It’s not going to work if you keep bringing it up.”

The server comes by, and I order white rice to go. I ask for some soy sauce as well in case Mimi is feeling much better and wants something to brighten an otherwise bland meal.

“And did your wife forgive you?”

“Yes,” I say, “she did.”

I MET NAOMI GALLANT when I was researching a fluff story on the resurgence of typewriters. A café on Toronto’s east side had organized a “Type-In.” Turned out the event was just a display of about thirty antique and vintage typewriters that you could look at and try.

If you were so inclined.

I didn’t see the allure.

Sure, the machines from the mid-twentieth century were interesting to look at, but I couldn’t imagine any of them competing with the ease and convenience of a computer keyboard. I had sat down in front of a light-green machine that looked a little like a sea turtle and was playing with the keys when she walked over.

“Naomi Gallant.” And she held out a hand. “You have good taste,” she said. “That’s a Hermes 3000. 1963. Swiss-made. Iconic shape. Excellent typing action. You a collector?”

“No. Afraid not.”

“You have a typewriter?”

“Had one.”

“But you work on a computer now.”

As soon as I told her I was doing a story on typewriters, she insisted on taking me around to each machine.

“This is an Olympia SM3. Beautiful machine. Great lines. Little heavy on the typing action because of the carriage shift. Olympia didn’t switch to a basket shift until the SM9.”

I tried taking notes, but Naomi didn’t wait for me to catch up.

“Here’s a Smith Corona Silent Super. It’s one of the better machines they made. Hard to find one in mint condition.”

“And this one’s in mint condition?”

“And here’s the one everyone wants.”

The typewriter was a little on the squat side, as though it had been flattened by a press, and the keyboard stuck out like a mouthful of bad teeth. But it was the bright red colour that got your attention.

“The Olivetti Valentine. Designed by Ettore Sottsass and Perry King. Launched in 1969. It was a commercial flop. Iconic design, but technically mediocre. Terrible typing action. It came in white, green, and blue, but everyone wants the lipstick red.”

Naomi took me to every machine in the café. Remington, Royal, Underwood, Voss, Oliver, Adler.

“L. Frank Baum, the guy who wrote The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, used a Smith Premier. Hemingway’s favourite was a Royal Quiet Deluxe. Orson Welles used an Underwood.”