Page 2 of Alone With You in the Ether

“I’m fine,” Aldo said.

“Good.” Masso Damiani was a chef, a single father, and a worrier, in that order. Masso thought about the universe often, the same way Aldo did, but differently. Masso asked the universe how much salt to boil in the water, or whether this vine or that one would provide the sweetest fruit. He knew when the pasta was done without looking, probably because of the universe. Masso had the gift of certainty and did not require any superstition.

Aldo’s mother, a lively Dominican girl too young for motherhood and too beautiful to stay long in one place, had never been very present. If she had ever asked anything from the universe, Aldo imagined she’d probably gotten what she wished.

“Rinaldo?”

“I’m listening,” Aldo said, though what he meant wasI’m thinking.

“Mm,” Masso said. “Did you try the museum?”

“Maybe tomorrow. It’s nice out today.”

“Is it? That’s good. Rare.”

Silence.

Masso cleared his throat.

“Tell me, Rinaldo, what are we doing today?”

Aldo’s mouth twitched slightly. “You don’t have to keep doing this, Dad.”

“It helps, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, of course, but I know you’re busy.” Aldo checked his watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime there.”

“Still, I have two minutes. Or so.”

“Two minutes?”

“At least.”

Aldohums to himself, thinking.

“Well,” said Aldo, “I think maybe today we’re on the ocean.”

“What year?”

He considered it. “When was the Trojan War?”

“About… 12th century B.C.?”

“Yes. That.”

“Are we fighting, then?”

“No, we’re leaving, I think. Journeying.”

“How is the wind?”

“Poor, I suspect.” Aldo took the joint between his fingers again, rolling it slowly. “I think we may be at sea quite a while.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to find out again tomorrow, then.”

“You don’t have to, Dad.”

Aldosays this every day.

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