“Are you thinking about—” “Yes, I am,” he said. “You were so damn irritating.” “And you were so mean,” I shouted to be heard over the saxophone player performing for tips a short distance from us. Cole swallowed his last bite of hot dog, and I swiped a glob of mustard from the corner of his mouth, licking it off my finger without thinking, sending us into a freeze-frame not even the two squealing kids pushing between us could interrupt. Cole snapped out of it first, wiping his mouth with a balled-up napkin. “I’m still mean,” he said, keeping the conversation rolling.
