It’s only been three weeks since the assault. It feels both like ten minutes and a year. At first Cate thought, no way she could do this play. She’d have to give it up. It was Neale who pushed her, but the sporadic separation has not been good for their friendship. Cate missed Neale’s surgery, her gun buy, her parents’ move-in, and Claude’s imminent rescue. But for Cate, the job and its thousand details help keep at bay the replay loops in her head. During the days anyway. Nights in Manhattan, she’s on her own.

long-term dating

found a place west on montrose.

not cuban. some other island, near equator.

in the back of a little grocery store.

This is Maureen arranging an activity for the two of them. She still does this. Cate is to a place where she doesn’t need an activity to justify the two of them getting together. But Maureen still likes to create a little honeypot, as though she needs to lure Cate into seeing her.

She mines every area of common interest they’ve turned up. Along their short way, they’ve found a mutual love of restaurants located in one or another obscure corner of ethnicity. This one is cozy. It smells of plantains and salty fat and coffee. The tables are covered with frantically patterned oilcloth. The menu is not in English, not in Spanish either. They order by hunch and the color photos on the menu.

The food arrives. Cate surveys her plate. “Mmmm. This thing—it’s a root?” Whatever it is, it’s puddled in an orange oil. “And these spongy greens. It’s like a little hillside, a knoll maybe. What you’re having looks better.”

A small patch of silence as they poke and taste. Cate pushes the oily root (now it seems more likely to be something from the ocean floor) to a distant region of the plate. The fronds are aromatic in a medicinal way. “I think I may have moved into a land beyond edible. At least without a period of cultural assimilation.”

Maureen’s dish is probably chicken, but could be rabbit. (Cate tries not to think “bunny.”) She gives Cate a piece along with the slice of Wonder bread and a butter pat that sit next to it. When Cate doesn’t eat either, Maureen says, “You’re right. Your selection was a step too far. Let’s drive down to Oak Street. We can stop at the fancy Norwegian frozen yogurt place. You’ve earned some vanilla.”

Next to the yogurt place there’s a rarefied clothing store.

Cate says, “These shops. How do they make money? They only have six pieces of clothing in here. I always think if I even walk in, I’ve made a commitment. I’m going to have to justify my presence by buying a two-hundred-dollar T-shirt in size two. Their version of large.”