“I’ll let you know,” I said. “And I’ll let you know if I sleep with Justin Trudeau.”
“I would fly up to meet him. That’s something I would do for you, so let me know if you need that from me. Gotta go, I’m trying this new artisanal yogurt place with Lucas.”
“Artisanal yogurt?”
“It’s going to be so disgusting, but I have to prove that to Lucas because he’s convinced that probiotics will turn his life around. When did gut flora become our new excuse for depression? I thought we were still blaming it on our parents. Okay, he’s calling me from downstairs, love you, bye…” And her voice trailed away again.
I actually gota fair amount of work done, sitting curled up by the window with my wi-fi and my laptop, watching the container ships moving in and out of the harbor. It was fun when Lisette came home and we ordered dinner together, and she made good on her promise of day-old muffins from the café where she worked.
It was on our final morning together that she told me the story of her duffel bag break-up. He had been her first serious boyfriend, and she was with him from the time she was sixteen to the time she was twenty-five. He didn’t start out violent, she said, but things escalated when they moved in together aftershe graduated from high school. First, he separated her from her family to run a Christmas tree farm way up on a logging road in Quebec. Then he started to get abusive, and her family tried to get her away, and in response, he moved them both to Newfoundland—to a small town up the coast—where he thought he could completely isolate her since her English wasn’t very good.
“Little did he know I was picking up tons of good English from watchingOrange is the New Black.”
By the end, she wasn’t allowed to leave the house or speak to anyone or use the phone, until one day, when he was at work, she packed up her only bag and hitched a ride from a trucker heading to St. John’s. She had been living out of a suitcase ever since, afraid to establish a permanent address in case he was able to use the internet to track her down.
“Lisette. That’s awful.”
“Well, you know, I learned a lot about Christmas trees, anyway.” She grinned brightly. “So I ended up at the Catholic church here because I’m Catholic, you know, so I figured they had to take me, and they got me to a shelter, and they’ve looked after me since. And the old ladies at the church like to feed me, which is nice. And then Paul helped, once I met him. He and I worked together at a summer restaurant job for a little bit, until I got fired, but then we started the improv group together.”
“Did you ever think about going home to your family?”
“My ex would look for me there. I email pretty often with one of my sisters and she says he has come by a couple of times asking about me. But eventually I think I just have to legally change my name and start living like a grown-up again. Rent an apartment and all that. I was never really on my own, so it’s been a lot to figure out. Credit cards and bank accounts and all these things. This is why I’m bad with dates and times. I spent a longtime where it didn’t matter what day of the week it was. Anyway. Enough about him, eh?”
“Well, I’m glad I got to meet you. And I’m going to miss having you around here,” I said. “If you need to stay another day or two?—”
“No, no,” Lisette said. “Paul is happy to take me in now that he has the space. He’s been all alone since his divorce. And he doesn’t hit on me, which is nice. He’s one of the good ones, you know?”
“Maybe I will come to your next improv show.”
It popped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Lisette has that effect on people.
“Paul’s coming by tonight,” Lisette said. “So you’ll get to meet him. He’s the best.”
Before I met Paul,I had a very specific image in my head of what he would be like: some goofy improv guy in a band t-shirt who precisely matched Lisette’s wild energy, the kind of guy who made dick jokes on stage and hadn’t been able to hold a steady job because of his weed habit. As soon as Paul knocked on our door that night, I realized I’d gotten him very wrong.
Paul was tall, thin, and clean-shaven, and he wore a navy wool peacoat that made him look like an 1850s sea captain, or just like someone who might actually read books that weren’t sports biographies. He smiled politely at me as he stepped in the open door, looking around as Lisette ushered him inside. She had been sitting by the window for half an hour waiting for him, and then she had rushed downstairs to let him in as soon as she saw his car.
Now she introduced us. “Abigail, this is Paul. Paul, Abby is the angel from Brooklyn who let me sleep on her sofa the last couple of days.”
“It’s what we do in Brooklyn,” I said.
He looked me over with a smile, then walked up and shook my hand. “Thanks for taking in the stray.”
“It was an extortion racket to get free muffins.”
“Abby is going to come to one of our shows!” Lisette cried.
Paul looked at me, seeming to read my real thoughts about improv comedy in spite of what I thought was a convincing smile.
He chuckled and leaned over to say into my ear, “It won’t be as bad as you think, I promise.”
Was he flirting with me? No. He liked Lisette, surely.
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” I said.
“No, you’re not. But we’ll convince you.” My heart sped up from how near he was standing, which felt ridiculous because Paul was so emphatically not my type. He didn’t look cynical or world-weary. He looked cheerful and organized and polite. If Lisette hadn’t mentioned his divorce, I would have assumed he had a wife at home, holding a beautiful baby in one arm and a charcuterie board in the other.
Lisette walked up to us. “I’m going to miss you. We have to hang out, yeah?”
