Joel and Ruth talk most of the time, laugh most of the time, and Alistair and I watch each other most of the time. He slides some sauces towards me, indicating that I should add it in the dishes. I fill his glass whenever it gets empty. We touch elbows for no reason as we eat. Without a noise, a delicate message of affection passes between us.
We finish eating and clear the table. Joel and Ruth wash the dishes, and Alistair and I sit on the couch—me balled up to the side and Alistair lying back with his arm stretched over the headrest.
“The food was really good,” I say to him. “Did Joel teach you how to cook?”
“Yeah.” The leather jacket Alistair took off while cooking is back on him.
My eyes linger on it. “I like your jacket.” He glances at me, without moving. His eyes drink me in slo
