He moves slightly. Not toward me. Just... a shift in weight.
Like he’s deciding something.
“How have you been?” he asks.
And somehow that question is worse than anything else he could’ve said. Because it’s normal. It’s the kind of thing you ask someone you used to know. It’s casual and polite and completely inadequate for what we were.
How have I been?
Let me consult my legal pad.
Item one: functioning.
Item two: successfully avoiding any situation where I might run into you.
Item three: apparently failing at item two.
“Fine,” I say. “Good. Working. You know. The usual.”
“Still at the firm?”
“Different firm,” I reply. “Same kind of work.”
Stop being so monosyllabic.
You sound like you’re being deposed.
Maybe I am.
“That’s good,” he says. “You always wanted to do the work the big firms thought was too small to care about.”
He remembers.
Of course he remembers.
That somehow makes this worse.
I clear my throat. “And you? Still... venture capital-ing?”
Venture capital-ing. Real smooth.
“Among other things,” he replies.
More silence.
“So,” I say, because someone has to say something. “Eleuthera. Small world.”
“Very small.” His voice is dry. The amused kind.
“I’m here for the quiet. Avoiding...” I wave vaguely. “People. Parties. You know.”
I think that’s a grin he just flashed in the dim light? “Idoknow.”
Of course he does.
Corin Saelinger probably invented avoiding people.
I used to think it was sexy. The mystery. The layers.
