Over Hugo’s shoulder, I survey my apartment. Admittedly in the past few years the place has drifted from monochrome into eclectic, generously. The less kind interpretation is that I have just accumulated too much stuff. There’s extra furniture from my parents, an end table that I found on the street and had refinished, even though with a coffee table there was never any room for it. And crammed behind the sofa is a credenza I had to have, because it was on massive sale at Ligne Roset. Hugo sits on one oftwo wooden stools I bought three years ago from a craftsman in Silver Lake, even though my dining chairs fit fine at the counter. I need to purge.
I say this to him now.
“No shit,” he says without looking up. “This place is starting to resemble a hoarder’s den. I’m thinking of signing you up for TNT.”
“TLC.”
“Yeah.”
I turn my attention back to the eggs and press the toaster down one more time on the bagels.
“Are you having a half or a whole?” I ask him.
“I’m trying to lay off carbs, but realistically I’ll eat both.”
I hear him put down his phone. I turn back around to the counter and my coffee cup.
“So, listen,” he says. He puts his elbows on the counter. “Make it happen with this guy, and then let’s all go out together.”
I take a sip. It’s rich and hot. I like my coffee so dense it’s practically a solid. “You want to double-date?”
Hugo smiles. “Definitely not. I want to take you both out for drinks and assess the situation.”
I set my cup down. “You’re bringing Natalie.”
“She’s going to get the wrong idea.”
“That what? You’re with her? You already are.”
Hugo shakes his head. “No, that we’re further down the road than we are.”
“People just want connection,” I say.
Hugo looks at me. “Who says I’m not connecting? Plus, she knows you’re important to me.”
“And that’s bad?”
He shrugs. “Not at all. It’s just more serious than I am with her. Meeting you is like meeting my family.”
His phone dings, and he picks it back up. “How are your parents by the way? I haven’t seen them since—what was it? Rosh Hashanah?”
“Passover.”
“That’s the one. You know your dad still wishes it had worked out with us.”
I spoon some scramble onto a plate, add some sliced tomatoes and onions, and pass it to Hugo. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Daph, trust me. The only thing your mom wanted more than for us to get married was to marry me herself.”
My parents do love Hugo but in the way all parents love tall, rich prospects. I did not consider it to be particularly individually focused.
I grab my plate, set the bagel halves in a small wooden bowl, and litter the counter with spreads—basil hummus, vegan pesto, avocado and dill crema, and a chive cream cheese.
“You spoil me,” Hugo says.
“You’re welcome.”
We eat. The eggs are a little overcooked, but everything else is pretty good.
