"Is she okay?"
"Yeah she's absolutely fine," Jake says to the waiter, who suddenly materialized by their table.
Jake's voice quakes with panic, but he has the presence of mind to take a swig of his red wine to calm his nerves. "She's fine. She has narcolepsy. She'll wake up in a minute."
"Are you sure?" The waiter looks like he's still in high school. "Because she's…there's foam in the corner of her mouth."
"What?" Jake grabs a wad of tissue and examines Claire's face closely. He carefully—perhaps reverentially—wipes the corner of her lips—the same lips he'll be ravishing later.
He faces the waiter, smiling. "Told you, she's fine. This is a normal part of our lives, you know."
"Is she your wife?"
"Yes, she's my wife," Jake says with conviction. "It's our anniversary dinner. Maybe the excitement prompted the narcoleptic attack. This often happens, sadly."
