Patrick Tish sat under a cherry tree at night. He rubbed the stem of a wine glass in his fingers and noticed pale light pool on the surface of the merlot. He sat, strangely transfixed, feeling somehow profoundly affected by the gliding light’s simplicity, but thinking of nothing in particular. Gloria put a hand on his knee and jolted him back to reality. He felt guilty for neglecting her
—the silence seemed forced now—
and straightened his posture. Their glasses clinked and Patrick was glad she was there, though not sure why.