The delicate curve of the earth is extraordinary from up here, my dear. Like an azure and emerald marble. Yes, I’m glad we came. Thank you for bringing me.

No, I’m fine. It’s just that the puffiness of this space suit makes it difficult to sit comfortably, and my bulky boots are getting caught on the rising corners of the red and white checkered blanket you so thoughtfully brought.

Are you struggling to open the sparkling wine? Oh, it does seem harder with those thick gloves on. Here, let me try, my hands are smaller. Oh, ha, now the bubbles are floating everywhere except inside of the delicate glass flutes. No, it’s okay, who would have thought of that?

My goodness it’s hard to laugh with this oxygen tank strapped to my back. I can’t seem to draw a full breath; every attempt seems a little bit shallow. Those bubbles look just like dust motes suspended in the sun, don’t they. But don’t look directly at the sun, dear. You might be blinded by the dazzle and forced to live the rest of your life seeing half-true and almost-enough.

Oh, gracious, look at the spread of stars across this black and purple sea. I never realized how vast the universe is. How small I am. How easy it is to feel lost.

Pass me the wicker basket, love, and I’ll hand you these little round buttery crackers, this sharp cheddar. Whoops, the cheese has gone hard and breakable in the freezing air, but I’m sure it’s still edible. Here, take this coin of cut salami from my hands. Oh, damn it, quick, try to grab it. Almost—there—no, don’t jump. It takes too much breath, and you’ll kick up so much lunar dust we won’t be able to see each other anymore.

It’s fine. Really. Look, we still have these miniature cheesecakes topped with ripe round cherries and sweet sauce. I’ll place it delicately between your hands. There. Now you only have to bring it to my mouth. Oh, right, this helmet—no, don’t smear—okay, well, I can imagine how juicy and tender the tart cherries are, how creamy and sweet the cheesecake, even as it’s streaked across my gold-plated sun visor. Here, just let me—that’s fine—no, just leave it. I can still see through the skim of ivory filling. Mostly.

No, no, I’m not angry. I appreciate your efforts for date night, like the time we tried to go to that fireworks show at the Mariana Trench and that vacation snorkeling trip inside Mauna Loa.

I know you try. This picnic is lovely, dear. But I am starving.