“Do you like this?” I say, nodding around the restaurant.
She swallows and blots her mouth. “Yes. The food is excellent. How’s your steak?”
“No. Well,” I glance down at my half-eaten steak, “the food is fine. It’s good. But I mean this place. Do you like nice restaurants? Dressing up like this? The orchestra?” I shake my head. “That’s not fair. Of course, you like the orchestra. But you seemed fine with us wearing more casual clothes, yet you looked pretty excited about the clothes we have on now.”
June sets her fork down and reaches for her wine glass while her gaze moves around the room. “I mean, sure.” She shrugs. “Who doesn’t like to look nice and eat good food?”
“Don’t you think about how this one meal could buy five regular meals, maybe ten? The money from these clothes could buy clothes and shoes for a lot of kids who have never owned a new piece of clothing?”
Her smile fades.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I love being here with you. And of course I want you to enjoy dinner and the orchestra, but I guess I just wonder if you dream of this kind of life.” I gulp half of my water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Flynn …”
“It’s fine. I just feel like a hypocrite being here. I hate people who can afford to live like this.”
She winces.
“I mean,” I shake my head, “I don’t hate them in the way I hated most of my foster parents who were awful to me and other kids. I just mean I hate how rich people brag about giving to the poor. Ya know? But if you can still afford to eat like this and buy clothes like these, then maybe you’re not giving enough.”
“Economic equality?”
I shrug, cutting my steak. “I guess. Yeah.”
“I’m not sure that’s ever been fully achieved in any society. A Marxist approach. No private ownership or class divisions. It sounds good in theory. Are you really wanting to discuss the flaws in it, including human behavior and economicincentives? The risk of totalitarianism? Seems like heavy dinner conversation.”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by a Marxist approach or that total … whatever thing. I’ve just known many people who have worked their asses off only to eke by. And people like Rupert and Callie sit around all day and do nothing to contribute to society, but they have so much money. It feels wrong.”
“I’m sure they’re charitable.” June sips her wine.
I grunt. “That’s my point. If you live in that house, then you aren’t being charitable enough.”
“So who should live in that house or other big houses? Who should drive the fancy cars and wear the designer clothes?”
“No one. Their house could house several families. Designer clothes are only expensive because they can be. If rich people stopped overpaying for things just because they can, then all companies would have to charge a fair price for their products.”
She slides her hand across the table and takes mine, squeezing it. “I love the world you dream of.”
“So this doesn’t matter to you?” Again, I look around the restaurant.
She laces her fingers with mine. “No.”
“Then let’s get out of here. Go to the orchestra because it’s your porn. And then let’s ditch these stupid clothes.”
She smiles. It’s soft at first, then it swells as she nods.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Flynn
The Minnesota Orchestra Hallis a massive glass building with a grand atrium and multiple gathering spaces outside of the main performance hall. We find our seats on the floor at the front.
“Your parents got us front-row seats?” I ask, craning my neck in all directions. This place is massive, with 3D cubes on the front wall and ceiling. Balcony seats line the back and side walls.
“Yes. There is a guest solo cellist performing tonight, so they knew I’d want to be as close as possible to see her.” June sits in her chair and crosses her legs, thumbing through the program.
I continue to gawk at the impressive space while shrugging off my jacket and loosening my tie before sitting beside her. “What’s up with the cubes everywhere?”
