Friday nights were for takeout, mostly because Tom rarely felt like cooking by the end of the workweek. He waited to place the order until Alex got back. It seemed the polite thing to do.
Since he was hungry, he didn’t waste any time when his guest walked through the door. Abandoning his video on the start of spring training, he asked, “Do you like pizza?”
“In moderation.”
“Only in moderation?” Tom had never heard of such a thing.
“I don’t want to eat unhealthy foods all the time and give myself a heart attack by forty.”
This anxiety sounded exhausting, not to mention like it sucked a lot of the fun out of life. He thought of a concession to health and suggested, “If it makes you feel better, we can get vegetables on it.”
“I like fresh tomatoes, if your pizza place has them.”
It did
