Claire arrived after the first toast, which meant everyone had already chosen their masks for the evening. The businessmen were loud. Their wives were polite. The waiters moved like shadows between candlelight and silverware.
She took the open seat without apologizing for being late. At sixty-four, Claire had stopped apologizing for most things. The black lace at her collar showed only when she leaned forward, but that was enough to change the table's weather.
Her ex-husband sat two chairs down with his new wife. He made the mistake of looking at Claire while pretending not to. She lifted her water glass and let him suffer in silence.
Then Martin, the quiet accountant across from her, noticed the small tremor in her hand. Not fear. Excitement.
"Long day?" he asked.
"Long marriage," Claire said. Her mouth curved. "Shorter than people think."
No one else heard it. Martin did, and the rest of dinner belonged to that one sentence.
Her ex-husband laughed too loudly at the far end of the table. Claire did not flinch. She had wasted enough years measuring rooms by his comfort.
Martin asked if she wanted more wine. Such a dull question on paper. But he asked it as if he understood there were two answers, the polite one and the honest one.
Claire looked at his hand on the bottle, then back to his face. "A little," she said. The word carried more weight than it should have, and both of them knew it.
After the plates were cleared, Martin waited for her near the coat room. He did not touch her. He only held her coat open and let his fingers brush the lining after she slipped into it. Claire felt the room behind them keep pretending not to watch.
