It’s what we don’t say. It’s when you walk into a room and don’t know what to say. You mean to say, “hello” or “good morning,” but you know that, between us, that would be strangely inappropriate before our morning cup of coffee. So you say, Leonard. When you walk into a room and my eyes are red, puffy and tired, but you don’t ask what’s wrong. Because you know you can’t comfort me. Or anyone. Fergus. When I come home after 3 and you can smell the vodka on my cardigan, but you don’t bother to ask. I’d just make something up, anyways. Clemenza. When you invite me to a baseball game, but the invitation is insincere. Herbert. When I say no, because I’d rather not pay $6.75 for a beer. Or, maybe because I’d just rather not spend time with you. Barzini. When you drop me off at the airport and you just don’t know how to say, “I love you.” Lord Baltimore.
