The veal parmesan was delicious, but he couldn’t eat it, couldn’t enjoy it, not with her standing in there, like that. He went and took her hand, and led her to a chair. He fixed her a plate, and then sat down again at his own.
“I don’t need to eat.”
“I know. I just… I felt bad.”
“Would you like me to…”
“No. Just… pretend to eat, I suppose.”
She picked up the fork and put some pasta in her mouth. She chewed, smiled. She did it with programmed, effortless precision.
It didn’t make him feel any more comfortable.
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