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: : : THEY FINISH MAKING THEIR CALLS and they head out to the bar, the one they end up at all the time; it's horrible but at least it's near the activist center. Clark keeps getting distracted by the football game broadcasting on the TV, and she doesn't even like football.
—So, Oliver says, —when we get married—
—Wait wait wait wait wait, Clark says, pulling her attention away from a Nissan commercial. She waves her hand in his face.
—Wait what? Oliver says.
—When we get married?
Oliver looks at her blankly. —Yeah. Remember? You were like I want a Canadian boyfriend so that—
—I remember, says Clark. —But—
—so that I can get married if things don't get better. Now, I could be wrong, but—do things look like they're getting any better?
—No, says Clark. —But—
—Another pitcher of Anchor Steam for you two? asks the waitress.
—Oh, yes, replies Oliver. —I think that's definitely in order. He refils his glass and Clark's with what's left in the old pitcher; they toast.
Oliver swallows first. —See, he begins.
—No, says Clark. She points at him. —No no no. You see. She keeps pointing at him until she's certain that he's listening, and then she holds her finger in the air. —I said I would get married to a Canadian if things didn't get better, but I didn't agree that that Canadian would be you.
—Oh, says Oliver. —So… you don't want to get married.
—Well, I didn't say that, Clark says. She drinks.
—Oh, says Oliver. —So…
—So nothing, says Clark. —Drink.
Oliver shrugs, and drinks.
—What were you going to say, anyway? Clark asks.
—When?
—Back there, she says. No response. —You remember? When you were like so when we get married?
—Right, Oliver says, in a tone of voice that suggests he can't quite follow the thread of her logic. Or is pretending not to be able to.
—So, Clark says, and she churns the air agitatedly with both hands, —when you said that, what were you going to say? Oliver stares at her like she has suddenly chosen to begin talking about the many interesting events of the Mezozoic. —So when we get married, what?
—Oh, Oliver says, as though it's all finally come clear. —Uh, forget it.
—Forget it?
—Yeah, Oliver says, —it's ridiculous.
Clark stomps her feet on the floor. —No fair, she says.
—Yeah, Oliver says, —I mean, when I still thought we were going to get married it would have made sense to say, but now—now that you're all of a sudden not sure—
—Oh, I see, Clark says. —I see how it's going to be.
Oliver shrugs. The new pitcher arrives.
—Is that how it's going to be, says Clark.
—I guess, Oliver says. He gestures at something invisible on the table, then holds up his hands.
—So that's how it's going to be, Clark says. —OK.
—All right, says Oliver.
—OK, says Clark. She refills her glass and watches him across the table. He's begun to look at her with a kind of perplexed concentration, as though he's studying her. She begins to study him right back. The busboy comes and clears their plates. On the TV the quarterback goes down.
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