"Good for you. I admire that," he lied. Their conversation paused and she saw that MF had removed both onions and pickles from his hamburger. She watched both males sink their fangs into the aesthetic round bits of carcass. She told herself that there was indeed something atavistic about it.
"Dad hates vegetables—won't ever eat them."
"Is that a fact!" said Gabriele.
"That isn't true; and don't talk with your mouth full!" rebutted MF irascibly.
"We never have tomatoes in the refrigerator."
"We have Ketchup. It is tomatoes plus."
Gabriele laughed. She as marginally enthralled with the charm of their bantering. Then, like the sound of crickets, the human noise became monotonous. Still, it was better than being deaf, and it bedizened her ears like large cheap earrings containing bogus stones.
"I saw you when you gave your lecture in Albany," said MF to Gabriele as if wanting to change the topic.
"I know. I saw you there. I wanted to catch you but there were droves of people and one reporter swarming all over the place."
"I understood that. It's okay."