Tai cackles, and he glances out the window. “I wish I could’ve gone with your mother back then.” I see the city reflected in his eyes—so small and contained. “She was always game for this kind of stuff.”

“We know,” Tai says, taking his hand.

He smiles at us, and we all toast our waters to Mama. I can’t help remembering that she once said toasting with water was almost as bad as toasting with an empty glass—but I don’t remember if that was based on a real Mediterranean old wives’ tale, or just her fondness for wine.

That’s when Teddy’s phone interrupts us with the cheesiest ringtone of all time:

Forever beautiful and fun, under every moon and every sun. She will be there until the end. Your very own Pocket Girlfriend.

The Pocket Girlfriend jingle.

Tai bursts into giggles again, and I say nothing.

The driver idles in a busy commercial district, and we slip out of the car, following Teddy inside an unassuming wooden door just off the street, then up a hidden set of stairs. He knocks twice on an unmarked door at the top, as Tai hobbles up behind me in her six-inch heels. The door slides open to reveal a petite, black-haired woman in a simple sheath, about Dad’s age, who welcomes us inside. We enter a small, windowless room with fading moss wallpaper and eight seats around a green marble counter, five of them filled with young men, each of them reverently staring at the bald older man with amber skin on the other side of the counter.

“Chef,” Teddy says, nodding his head. The men rise, kissing Teddy on the cheeks, who kisses them back, and there’s a lot of kissing and amiable chatting before we’re seated. The men are Teddy’s colleagues, it seems, and he booted two of them last-minute from this business lunch to make room for us.

Not exactly the private audience we requested.

“I’m so sorry you had to cancel on two of your friends, Teddy,” Tai says, settled into her seat, sipping on water, and eagerly eyeing the chef as he handles gorgeous neon-orange lobes of sea urchin.

“I’m sure you are,” I whisper. “Wipe your drool.”

“It’s not a problem,” Teddy says. “They weren’t friends—they were colleagues. And you girls are family.”

We grin at him—even though all I’m thinking is why didn’t you tell us about Mitso?—and accept the little thimblefuls of fancy liquor he offers us.