“A tequila soda,” I said. “With a lime, if you have.”
“You got it.”
Hugo nodded his approval. “Scotch for me, whatever you’re pouring.”
Calvin left, and Hugo turned back to me. “Calvin had a bad accident a few years back. Some asshole on Mulholland. He couldn’t work for about three months, and he ended up crashing with me for a few weeks.”
“At your apartment?”
“House,” Hugo said.
I saw him note my surprise.
“I’m not there that much.”
I studied him. “So, what? You’re a do-gooder?”
“Gotta offset the karma somehow.” Then he shook his head. “Nah, he’s a good guy.”
What I remember from that dinner is that Hugo seemedsincere. Which was surprising, and made me feel a little foolish—like I, too, was falling for it. Like I couldn’t tell the difference between an act and the real thing. I had felt so different in the parking lot, but maybe I was the same. Maybe all it took was a fancy restaurant and a story about being someone’s savior.
“How’s it going with the kid?” Hugo asked.
“Dionte? Good. They don’t really tell me much, though. I’m on a need-to-know basis. He seems to like the class.”
“Cassandra did, too.”
“What about the brunette?”
Hugo smiled at me. “You think I’m a foregone conclusion.”
I swallowed down some tequila. “I know you are.”
He leaned forward. “Is that a challenge?”
“I don’t think it can be,” I said. “I don’t think you want the prize.”
Hugo sat back in his chair dramatically, as if I’d socked him. He didn’t immediately say anything. A moment passed. I let it.
“I do, though,” he said finally. “At least, I think I do.”
Three months was enough time to figure it out and not get stuck underwater. I’d had only two bad breakups before, and I couldn’t even say they were bad—they were just painful. Most of them ended cordially, if not friendly. It’s hard to have a falling-out when one person isn’t outraged. The paper made it so that nothing was personal. When Ben Hutchinson cheated on me during sophomore year of college, I wasn’t even mad at him. Of course he had, it had already been four and a half months.
“Those are two very different statements,” I said.
He looked at me. When he spoke, it felt like a confession. “I know.”
We ordered—steak for me and grilled salmon for him. Another round of drinks, french fries, and sautéed spinach. Hugo ate with careful bites, slicing off small bits of salmon and spinach, laying them on the back of his fork with care.
“How do you consume all of that?” Hugo asked me, gesturing to my plate. “You’re thin.”
“Good metabolism,” I said. Conversations around weight bored me. There were so many more interesting things to talk about than the particular shape of someone’s body.
Hugo could sense that he’d lost me.
“Can I just say I find you very enjoyable?” he said after a moment.
I picked up a fry, dunked it into the ketchup. “I’m flattered.”
