Suddenly their table was engulfed in a ghost-green miasma that was only too familiar to Dabney.

A third drink arrived for CJ, another Dirty Goose. He said, “I’m not going to tell Agnes she can’t go. But I’d really like her to come back to New York every weekend. And if not every weekend, then every other weekend.”

Dabney felt for a second like she and CJ were divorcing and discussing a custody arrangement.

“You can come here anytime,” Dabney said. “We have plenty of room.”

CJ snorted and took a healthy pull off his drink.

“I’m forty-four years old,” he said. He glanced at Agnes, who now had her hands clasped at her chest like a praying mantis. “I’m past the point where I want to stay in someone’s guest room. If I come back this summer, I’m going to want my own place with Agnes, so we have the necessary privacy. But it’s a little late to start looking, and I’m unsure of which weekends I would even be free enough to travel. My clients, Dabney, are really just kids—some of them only nineteen and twenty years old. I need to be available for them twenty-four/seven. Summer is a busy time, especially for my NFL players. I assume you’ve heard of Bantam Killjoy?”

Dabney had not heard of Bantam Killjoy. Was he talking about a person? Or a new video game?

Dabney shook her head.

“He was the number-one draft pick, wide receiver out of Oklahoma, nominated for the Heisman. Big media favorite because both his parents were killed in the Oklahoma City bombings when he was a baby.”

“It’s a really sad story,” Agnes said. “With a happy ending. But Bantam needs CJ’s guidance, almost like an older brother, or an uncle.”

“Yes, I’d imagine so,” Dabney said. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow college football except for the Harvard-Yale game.”

“Well, signing Bantam Killjoy was a big coup for me, and my main goal this summer is to make sure he gets to training camp. That will take precedence over coming back here, unfortunately. If Agnes wants to see me, she’ll have to come to New York.”

Dabney sucked down an East Beach Blonde from Rhode Island. CJ had made a big deal about ordering the oysters—again, just as Dabney had—but he had yet to eat a single one. The only oyster missing from his platter was the one he’d fed to Agnes. Dabney suspected that CJ didn’t even like oysters. He had ordered them only because Dabney had. And this, perhaps, got closer to what Dabney didn’t like about CJ. He reeked of insincerity; he did things just for show.

Dabney said, “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” CJ said. “Let’s talk about ridiculous. Your daughter has been asking you for four years to come to New York, and for four years, you’ve said no…”

Dabney speared a Yaquina from Oregon, which was a tiny oyster, about the size of a quarter, but she almost couldn’t get it down. “As I’m sure Agnes has shared with you, I suffer from a bit of a phobia…”

CJ smacked his palm on the table. “You’re her mother and you’ve never come to see her.”

Agnes put her hand on CJ’s arm, but he brusquely shook it off. Did he hit her? Dabney suddenly wondered.

“And another thing,” he said. “Agnes told me that your crystal ball says we don’t belong together.”

“I don’t have a crystal ball,” Dabney said. “I wish I did.”

“Then I’m not sure what criteria you’re using to determine who’s a ‘perfect match.’”

“No criteria,” Dabney said.

“No crystal ball, no criteria,” CJ said. “I think your matchmaking is bullshit.”

“Well,” Dabney said, “you wouldn’t be alone in that opinion.” She sucked down a Wianno.

CJ pushed his platter of oysters at Agnes. “Here, honey,” he said. “You have them.”

Agnes gazed morosely at all the beautiful, fresh oysters, which were now swimming in slush.

“Or have a roll,” Dabney suggested again.

“We don’t eat carbs,” CJ said. “She’ll eat the oysters. Won’t you, baby?”

Their waiter came back to the table. “How are we doing?” he asked.

Dabney did not say, I hope my future son-in-law is drunk and NOT simply cruel, although I fear that’s the case. She did not say, Please bring me a glass of champagne or good white Bordeaux because I can’t make it another second without a drink. She did not say, He’s trying to make me feel like a bad mother, but I know what a bad mother is because I had one, and I am NOT a bad mother.

No, instead Dabney smiled at their server and thought, I have tried all nine oysters and they were delicious—sweet, creamy, briny, sublime. There is nothing more sublime than a cold, fresh oyster. She was slipping away, she could feel it, the green smoke was getting into her eyes and lungs.

“Everything’s fine,” she said. But it took effort.

As soon as the server sailed away, Dabney set her napkin on the table and said, “Excuse me, please.” She wasn’t feeling well, it was the green smoke, or it was the wheat allergy, perhaps, threatening to turn her insides to dust. The lives we lead, she thought.

“Darling?” Dabney said to Agnes. “I’m not feeling well. I think I just need air. I’ll meet you at home, okay?”

“Okay,” Agnes said. “Do you want us to go with you?”