That night at the Winston, we’d been sitting at the bar, chatting about the awards banquet where we’d met, and waiting for our table to be ready. After our first round of drinks, Hal cleared his throat. He turned to me with folded hands, his signal, I learned over time, that he was preparing to explain something or make an announcement. “I have two kids,” he said, as if beginning a fascinating story. “Two boys. Caleb and Jake.”

“Nice names,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said, but the cleverness of their names was not the point. He ordered another cocktail for himself. “Another cabernet?”

“Sure,” I said, and the bartender got busy. I saw him glance at us, and I wondered how many conversations like this he’d heard over the years.

“Jake is fourteen and Caleb’s twelve,” Hal said. “Both have birthdays coming up.”

“Hmm,” I said, thinking, Shoot, adolescents. “Tough ages?” Just in time, the bartender placed our new drinks in front of us.

“We have our moments,” he said. Clearly, this story was not going to be about raising teenagers.

“I have no kids,” I said, wanting in on the let’s-tell-our-life-story game and not quite ready for the next chapter of his. “I’ve never been married.”

Hal nodded as if none of that information was good or bad and he was just taking it in. Or he could have merely been waiting for me to stop talking so he could continue describing his demographics. “As you know, I am . . . married.”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, your table is ready,” said the hostess, who had approached our bar stools. “If you’ll follow me?”

We picked up our drinks to bring them with us. It felt good to stand up and stretch my legs, as if my weakened blood circulation might have been impairing my judgment. Hal motioned for me to go ahead, and we fell in line, snaking through the candlelit tables to a two-top against the wall, toward the back of the room. I’d never been seated at this particular table, which was a relief. No unnecessary baggage to carry. “This is perfect, thanks,” Hal said to the hostess as he helped me settle in. He had given me the seat with the best view, and I wondered if he was aware of that.

I opened the menu. “I’m hungry, are you?” Perhaps talking about food would give us a respite.

“If you’d allow me, I could order for us,” said Hal.

I’d never been with a date who’d tried that. It was so Neanderthal and yet fascinating. “Oh, gosh. Thank you, but I’d rather order for myself,” I said, already eyeing the filet mignon.

“As you wish,” he said.

After I ordered, Hal simply said, “I’ll have the same as the lady.” He seemed anxious to get back to his story.