The lunch Damian had promised Alehandra happened on a Saturday.
He'd said *buy me lunch sometime* the morning she'd told him the whole version in the café on Mercer Street, and she'd said *yes, I will,* and three weeks had passed in the particular way that weeks passed when everyone involved was managing multiple urgent things simultaneously. The designation challenge. The Reeves documentation. Richard's history assembling itself across the institutional archive.
The lunch had kept getting deferred.
On Saturday morning he texted her: *Today if you're free.*
She replied in four minutes: *I know a place. Noon.*
