“You are from Israel, how wonderful!” Morris sounds truly delighted. “Michael tells me you are Jewish, of course, but not this. How lucky he is, eh, Michael? Tell me how you find a beautiful Israeli girl like this.”
The story of how they met will have to be severely glossed over. There won’t be any talk of Michael learning to control his mutant abilities, or Wolfgang doing magic to save his job, or little honking shadow-birds and fake Loch Ness monsters. No one will mention what they did over the winter holidays. It feels so pointless to talk about, gutted like that. It pisses Michael off.
“At McDonald’s,” he replies flatly. There’s a beat of silence afterward; it’s apparent he doesn’t have anything to add.
“Really.” An undertone of impatience appears in Morris’s voice. “What is wrong with you? You should be proud in this moment. Who will put up with you like this?”