Photo by Dusan Stojkovic
They hadn't seen each other in almost two years, and throughout the meal Sal never thought it necessary to bring up the fact that he'd gotten the tatoo removed. Dana held her tongue, too. About the boy. About her husband who had spent so much time in the service but was still convinced he was the father. Sal and Dana sipped cold sake flavored with floating cucumber slices. They talked about the delightful tastes. Reminded Dana of summer. Somewhere else. Ages ago. When Sal showed her photos of his adventures abroad, tears welled up in Dana's eyes. But they played it cool; who noticed? They changed the subject. The Itamae's skill? Impressive. The seaweed? Sweet. Dana said the word again: seaweed. She remembered pulling wet leaves from Sal's hair that one night they beached. Sal touched her on the wrist on their way out of the restaurant. He's fine. She said. Our boy, he is happy and well. Sal felt it was a shame that throughout the meal he never even thought to ask Dana for a table dance. Just for old time's sake.