I order lamb--a sumptuous splurge. Saverio orders crab.
"Surrounded by the sea," he explains.
I live in the midst of crab harvests all year long.
"Chile is so thin, you're never far from the sea."
"It's true," he admits. "But in the city it is not the same. Here, I feel like I just climbed out of the sea myself."
"That sounds cold. And very wet."
He laughs. "You live close to the sky here--Nido Claro--and close to all the weather."
"On the margin of comfort."
"But you seem happy. You all seem happy."
I shrug as the waiter brings us our bottle of wine. We wait while he opens the bottle and pours.
A simple toast, and then Saverio adds, "I'd like to see you some more."
I want to ask why, and I know that it won't sound right. I don't say anything yet. I don’t know what to say yet.
"But I won't be able to come down here for a while."
He swirls the wine in his glass. Is he waiting for me to offer to come to Santiago? I'm already trying to save money to meet with Henry. I can't possibly afford two trips, and now I'm starting to worry, and I'm feeling more tense, and I sip my wine.
"You don't travel outside, do you?"
"It's hard," I start. "It costs money--another margin we're on."
I need a new question, right now.