"Hey, Uma," Gil said cheerfully from across the sink, where he was helping Uma wash the mounds of dishes at Ursula's Fish and Chips. "Remember that day when me and you and Harry were fishing, and he was trying to impress you and accidentally-"
Uma froze in the act of scraping a truly sizable amount of gunk from a bent fork. "Yeah, Gil, I remember, and let me tell you right now, do not ask Harry if he remembers-"
"Why not?" Gil asked, open puzzlement on his features. Uma sighed heavily.
"Just trust me, Gil. He remembers, and he doesn't want to be asked. It's a sensitive topic."
"Well, I'm going to try," Gil said resolutely. He finished the plate, stacked it carefully, and hollered over the general racket across the kitchen to where Harry was slicing sea cucumbers. "Hey, Harry!"
"What's it?" Harry called back. "I can't hear you! Move your idle carcass over here if you want to talk to me!"
Gil put down the plate and headed across the kitchen. "Hey, Harry, remember that time-?"
Uma craned her neck, trying to see. Servers bustled past, balancing towering trays, obscuring her line of vision. There was a kerfuffle, a string of filthy words, and an ugly squelching noise.
Gil came trotting back, a sea cucumber wedged uncomfortably high up his nose.
"You were right," he said sadly to Uma, his voice nasally and muffled. "He remembered, and he still doesn't like to talk about it."