“Why do you assume that married people are joined at the hip, that we do everything together? We’re both busy individuals. There are things we enjoy together and there are things we enjoy apart.”

“My parents did everything together,” said Rosemary. “But I doubt they loved each other. I never saw them once, like, hold hands.” She paused. Hoping to seem innocuous, she looked at her nails and said: “What’s your wife look like?”

“Well, you could say she’s not hideous. It’s not like I keep her in the attic.”

“Do you have a photo?”

“I had one in my wallet. But that wallet got stolen.”

“Do you love her?”

He looked into her eyes: “We’re quite married.”

“I know, but . . .”

“What I mean is that we’re quite married. As opposed to very married. Why this sudden interest?”

His shin grazed hers. She moved her legs away, but his legs came back and found them again. She felt his foot rubbing the back of her calf like a needy cat, and all she could think of was whether he’d leave mud tracks on her freshly laundered jeans.

“This is what you were really asking, isn’t it?” He reached for her hand now, and kneaded her finger joints. “Rose, you know how fond I am of you. You needn’t have been so coy. Not with me.”

“Coming through!” warned a voice. Mr. Z released Rosemary’s hands abruptly. The waiter lowered two huge platters—one holding fried cutlets and another with wormy strands of pasta mixed with beef ragu.

“I told you not to fill up on that garlic bread,” he said, jauntily avuncular.

She counted the seconds until the waiter was gone. “I’m not actually hungry. I just wanted to say . . . I feel so safe with you. I think you’re perfect.” Her eyes welled up at that word. “I think your house is perfect . . . and I’ll bet your wife is perfect, too.”

Mr. Z was halfway into his first cutlet. “Nobody’s perfect. You know that.”

“What I’m trying to say is . . . my mother’s kind of a psycho . . .”

“Everybody’s mother is kind of a psycho, kid.”

She nodded. “I know it’s probably too late now, but I was wondering . . .” She stared at her strawberry shake. “Would you and your wife consider adopting me?”

Mr. Z took a big gulp of his beer. She knew she had to ram home the rest of the pitch now, sway him before the word no formed in his mouth.