“My last boyfriend? I wish.” I thought of Farid, and then I thought of Colin, who was technically my last boyfriend. Farid had made me miserable, and Colin had made me so ashamed that I didn’t even talk about him. Not to Laura. Not to anyone.
“Murder would have been a much more satisfying end to things,” I went on. “No, Farid left me for the person he’d been cheating on me with. And then married her, after years of telling me he didn’t believe in marriage, philosophically. He wasagainst the whole concept of marriage until he met someone he actually wanted to marry.”
“We’ll have to get him together with my ex. Sounds like they would click.” Paul smiled.
“What happened with her? If you don’t mind talking about it.”
He shrugged. “When we met, we were both actors in Toronto. And then I moved here to take care of my father, and eventually got a teaching job, and she came out here to help start a small advertising firm her friend was running, so it seemed to make sense to get back together. And then I guess our lives got really boring.”
“What? In cool, happening St. John’s?”
“The guy she left me for travels around Canada doing documentary-style stuff. He’s in Vancouver one week and Banff the next. And they apparently vacation in Spain and St. Barts.”
“He sounds insufferable.”
He laughed. “I was thinking that would sound normal to someone from New York. Jet setting around.”
“I do jet-set around the F train a bit.” I considered. “But New York is actually really hard in that way,” I said.
“What way?”
I blushed. I realized I was thinking of dating, and that probably wasn’t where Paul’s mind was. Would he think I was hitting on him? I tried to sound casual. “Well, for dating. It’s hard to find people.”
“I would think it would be the opposite,” Paul offered.
“There are dating apps, and bars, and so on, but by the time you’re in your thirties… It’s like with the dating apps,” I said. “Everyone you go on a date with knows that there are hundreds of other options aside from you, so if things aren’t working out, everyone can cut their losses without putting any effort in. And eventually it starts to be like no one is really trying to get to knowanyone. I went on a date with a guy, and ten minutes into it, he said, ‘Well, I’m not feeling this, are you?’ And I said, ‘Uh…’ And he said, ‘Let’s cut this short, then.’ And he got up and left.”
“What? He left?”
I shrugged. “No point in wasting time.”
Paul looked outraged on my behalf. “I can’t believe that. And with you?” Now I definitely felt myself flushing, so I looked out over the water.
I shrugged. “And if I am what somebody wants, he’s bitter and damaged by his horrible divorce.”
Paul looked down.
“I didn’t mean you!” I cried. “Not at all, honestly. You don’t seem bitter at all.”
He shrugged. “I have moments.”
“Well, you are a million times more pleasant than the guys I’ve been meeting in New York.”
“Pleasant,” he said. “Excellent.”
I opened my mouth. “No, I…” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure this was a date. It wasn’t a date, was it? He hadn’t asked me on one.
He looked down, a ghost of an ironic smile crossing his lips. “Speaking of pleasant,” Paul said, “time to scour the puffin population for viral video material.”
I turned to look over the side of the boat where the tourists were gathering. Ahead of us was a hillside with literally hundreds of puffins. They were individually very cute, but the effect of so many was a bit stunning, especially after the nature deficit of New York City. I had expected I might see ten or twenty birds, but this was a giant colony, fluttering wings and calling out and jumping into the water.
“They are so ridiculously cute,” I said.
“Are they giving the Brooklyn rats a run for their money?”
“Not in sheer numbers. But they may have the edge because they aren’t trying to run across my sandals.”
“Whale!” came a cry from the other side of the boat. And the crowd of tourists rushed over just in time to see a large whale breaching from the water and then returning with a splash.
