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"A bit dry, don't you think?" asked Mark. He lifted the steak with his fork and peaked underneath. Then adjusted the fine white linen napkin on his lap.
  "Taste fine to me. What are you going to do? Trade it in for something fresher?" Kate stuffed a large piece in her mouth. She stared at a couple a few tables down, an older gentleman with a younger lady. I hope that's his daughter. The waiter, in his perfectly pressed white shirt, smiled and refilled the young lady's champagne.
  "Oh, it's not that bad," he took a small bite.
  She leaned forward with her belly touching the table. "Well, don't feel like you have to settle for second best. I'm sure the sea is filled with better, younger tuna." She looked over at another couple, older, same age, and not talking to each other. Is that what I have to look forward to? The waiter doesn't even bother checking on them.
  "Honey, I said it's fine."
  "I love the tuna here. I would never consider getting something else. We have so much history here. But history doesn't matter to you does it?" She moved her fingers on the table as if she were the one playing the piano near the bar. Brilliant flames from the fireplace reflected against the shiny piano.
  "Didn't you have the ravioli last week?"
  Kate grabbed her Chardonnay and gulped it down. She flagged the waiter and ordered another.
  Mark adjusted his glasses and looked down at his plate. "Honey, I do appreciate our history here." He continued to stare down. "And I'm not settling for the tuna. It's the history that makes it so great."
  Kate leaned back and crossed one arm across her chest, the other held her wine glass. The pianist nodded at her, as if she were encouraging her to listen to Mark.
  Mark looked up. "The tuna is perfect. My tuna is perfect."
  The pianist put all her weight against the keys in a new melody; the diners put their silverware down and started to clap. Kate stared into Mark's eyes, trying to look deeper inside her sleepy belly.

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