Free The Art of Forgetting by Peter Palmieri Page A

you do remember,” Erin said.
                  “You had freckles all over your nose and you wore your hair in pig-tails.” He faced Mark. “She was this scrawny little tom-boy who always tried to tag along wherever the boys went.”
                  “I think I preferred it when you didn’t remember,” Erin said with a frown.
                  “Well, you turned out just fine,” Lloyd said.
                  “I’m still trying to burn every photograph taken of me before the ninth grade,” Erin said.
                  “Aren’t we all,” Mark said, “except for Lloyd, of course. He was such a beautiful boy.” He rolled his eyes.
                  Mark lifted a covered metal platter holding thick cuts of marbled meat from the counter. “Well, I hate to interrupt the stroll down memory lane, folks, but these steaks won’t cook themselves. Shall we adjourn to the patio?”
                  “It really is nice to see you again after all these years, Lloyd. I sometimes wondered how you turned out,” Erin said.
                  “Disappointed?” Lloyd asked.
                  Erin winked. “The day’s young.”
                   
                  Chapter 6
     
                  M onica and Erin set the wine bottle and glasses on the patio table which, like the rest of their furnishings, appeared to have come straight out of a Crate and Barrel catalog. Meanwhile Mark and Lloyd approached the oversized, egg-shaped grill. While Mark slid the platter of steaks on the grill’s service table, Lloyd lifted the heavy cast-iron lid, leaning back when a wave of heat rolled off his face.
                  “You know what you’re doing?” Lloyd asked.
                  “Oh, ye of little faith. You’re about to have the best steak of your life, brother,” Mark said.
                  Mark skewered the first steak with a long barbecue fork, the meat drooping heavily as he tried to position it strategically on the scorching metal. It landed askew with a loud hiss, a crumple forming through its middle when the leading edge stuck to the grid. Mark poked at it with the fork and until it stretched flat. He grabbed the remaining three steaks with his bare hands and tossed them on the grill as if he were dropping rocks in a well.
                  Lloyd laughed. “You look like your bowling steaks.”
                  “That’s how the pros do it.”
                  “Yeah, professional bowlers,” Lloyd said.
                  Mark lowered the lid of the grill and wiped his hands on a small towel. The two men took their seats at the patio table where Monica was pouring wine in large stemmed goblets.
                  “Mark, why don’t you propose a toast?” Monica said.
                  Mark lifted his glass. “They say new friendships are like silver, and old friendships are like gold. So an old friendship that feels like a new friendship must be like... what?”
                  “Diamonds,” Monica said. “Like big, fat diamonds on an engagement ring.”
                  Lloyd glanced at Erin. She looked back at him, smiled and rolled her eyes. He spied a dimple forming in her cheek.
                  “That was subtle, honey,” Mark said. “Real subtle. Well, to new friendships and old friendships rekindled.”
                  “Cheers!” Lloyd said. “I thought you’d never get to the punch line.”
                  The four clinked their goblets together over the center of the table and sipped their wine. There was an awkward lull as they savored the wine, the moment lingering as if everyone had suddenly run out of something to say.
                  “Erin just started working at the medical center, Lloyd,”