DOMINIC
I planned it three weeks in advance.
Not the grand gesture. I knew better than that — Elena's reaction to grand gestures was to laugh and then feel uncomfortable and then say something dry about theatrical choices, and I had learned to work within the register of what was actually her language rather than the one I might have defaulted to.
What she needed was specific. What she would feel was specific.
So I called Mama Francesca in Brooklyn.
"Her birthday," I said. "I want to do it right."
A pause on the line. Then Francesca's voice, which had a particular quality when she was deciding whether someone had passed or failed a test: "What does she like to eat?"
I told her.
Another pause. "You know this," she said. Not a question. An observation.
"I pay attention," I said.
A
