Three shirts lay on Rifat's bed, and none was responsible for his nerves. He had invited Jasna to dinner after meeting her four times among mutual friends. She liked assembling other people's misquoted verses into new poems and never pretended to understand jokes she did not find funny. Rifat was sixty-six and had new dentures he was still getting used to. That afternoon, those two facts seemed unfairly connected.
At the restaurant he studied the menu so long that Jasna suggested ordering drinks first. It did not help. He chose soup, then said he was not particularly hungry. She ordered fish and asked about a trip he had mentioned. He gave short answers, watching every word. When she laughed at something he said, he covered his mouth with his napkin and missed her next question.
Jasna put down her fork. She asked whether he actually wanted to be there. Rifat wanted to say he had had a difficult day, that something at work was bothering him, anything more suitable for a first date. But he was retired, and she knew that well. "I'm afraid I'll look ridiculous eating in front of you," he said. He explained why, looking into the soup that was already cooling.
She did not tell him that nothing showed or that it was normal at their age. She asked what he would feel most comfortable eating that evening. He said he wanted mashed potatoes and felt his own answer bring him back into the room. They ordered an extra side dish. Jasna then admitted that all the way there she had wondered whether the mark from her sock would fade on her calf, because she had worn shoes she only liked while sitting down.
Their difficulties were not equal, and they did not try to make a competition of them. They simply continued talking. Rifat described how, at his first job, he had accidentally locked his own boss in the storeroom. Jasna laughed so much she had to set down her glass. This time he did not follow her eyes to check whether she was looking at his teeth. He noticed a little sauce on her sleeve and pointed it out without ceremony.
After dinner they did not walk far because of her shoes. They sat on a bench while she loosened the straps. Rifat asked whether she would come for lunch on Sunday, warning her that for the moment he was best at cooking soft things. She said she could bring a dessert eaten with a spoon. When he returned home, the three shirts still lay on the bed. He folded them and only then realized he had been smiling all the way home.