Mitz, an old acquaintance from college, called out of the blue after my mother died. I knew that his wife put him up to it. She was a sweetheart. I don’t know why she stayed with him. Mitz was a dick. Years back, he fucked my ex-wife when she was passed out drunk and pretended he was drunk too.

“So how are you doing?”

That was his opening line, and It went on like that until I finally said it for him. “You’re calling about my mother’s death?”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Fine, thanks for asking.”

“Are you in Toronto for the funeral?”

“Still in New York, Mitz. Quarantined like everyone else.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t know where my mind is at. But you’re doing okay?”

“What about you, Mitz? What about you?”

“I’m managing this co-op. And so that’s good.”

“No, I mean, are you still fucking drunk chicks?”

He pretended not to hear, but I wouldn’t let him off the hook.

“Or did you stop doing that?”

“Okay, that’s good. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“Yes, Mitz, I’m doing okay. Everybody is doing fucking okay.”

But he was gone by that time, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel bad about that.