The plates are still on the table and Tomás has gone down to the car for the wine he forgot, and Alfeo has not moved from his chair.
He turns his glass a quarter turn, then back, and looks at you the way he does when he is about to say something he has been sitting on for years.
"You know what the worst part is?"
He says it quietly, without the grin.
"I practised. In the car, on the way here, I practised saying it like a joke, so that if you didn't want it I could laugh and we could all keep eating pizza."
He sets his jaw.
"You've said it first, and now I've got nothing prepared, and I'm going to do it badly."
He pushes his chair back and comes round the table to you.
"So. Badly. I have been in love with you since the summer I taught you to drive and you nearly put us in the canal. Eleven years."
He holds out his hand, palm up, and waits.