Three
It seemed to Gerald as though he had lost sight of Michael. He had poured his punch and set down the papier-mâché pot roast on the table with the metallic confetti stars. When he had turned back around, Mikey was gone. There were some very attractive businesswomen in work clothes sitting on folding chairs. “Howdy,” said Gerald, waving.
Back in the patio they ran across each other again. Gerald’s mouth was stuffed with the chip and dip he had been entertaining the ladies with for nearly a half-hour. It dribbled down his chin as he mumbled, “Hey, Mikey, there you are. Great day for turning the big four-oh, huh?” Gerald nudged Mikey in the ribs with his elbow. He hadn’t forgotten.
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