8
“THAT COUNTS AS TAKING IT SLOW, RIGHT?”
The Friday morningafter the kiss during improv practice, Paul called and asked if he could come to my place.
“I have a few more improv books for you,” he said. “If you’re still willing to read them. I told you last night that I would bring them.”
“Of course,” I said. “I really liked the other ones.”
“Can I come by now?” he asked. “I know you’re at work right now.”
“Of course. Anytime. I just have a meeting at 2 p.m.”
It was a Friday and Paul was still off work for the summer, so I knew he would probably be over soon. I also knew Paul was probably using the books as an excuse to talk about what had happened, and I began to get nervous as I waited for him to arrive. I was supposed to be researching the impact of a change in interest rates on rental markets. Instead I walked back and forth around the living room practicing alternate versions of the upcoming conversation, varying between readying polite responses to his lack of interest and throwing his obvious interest in his face. Then I imagined us admitting that we were madly in love, which gave me the push I needed to open my work laptop to distract myself.
When he arrived, he had several improv books in hand, and he waved off an offer of coffee or tea and sat down at the table and spent a few minutes walking me through each of the books. I could sense that he was nervous, too.
“So last night…” he began at last. We were now seated an arms-length away from each other on Charlotte’s sofa.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said.
“You? No. Why are you sorry, I was the one who…” He trailed off.
“My essay on consent in improv isn’t finished yet.”
“Ah, right.” He smiled at his hands. “I kissed you,” he said firmly. I could feel my face warming.
“I’m pretty sure I kissed you back,” I offered, and watched his expression for any indicator of what was coming next. He was giving me nothing. I felt like he was a clever murder suspect on a police procedural, and I was the cop examining his face for clues.
I waited as he stood up and walked to the window, then started to pace around the apartment looking at Charlotte’s fishing boat photos. None of that seemed good.
“The thing is…I uh…finalized my divorce six months ago…”
“I know.” I tried to sound gentle.
“It had been a long time coming. She left me almost a year before that. And the whole thing was really messy. It messed with my head.”
I put up my hand. “Okay. I’m going to stop you right there. We don’t have to do this.”
“Don’t have to?—”
“If you have some long speech about how you can’t date anyone right now, because you’re emotionally fragile, but then as soon as you meet someone you actually like…I don’t need to hear about why you haven’t asked me out. It’s okay if you just like me as a friend.”
“Hmmm.” Paul’s face was unreadable.
“No, I’m sorry, I guess I’ve heard some version of this enough times in my life that I don’t want to put either of us through it. Because I really like you, and I’m having fun spending time with you and I didn’t demand that you to explain yourself to me.”
He came closer, sitting opposite me. “What if that wasn’t what I was going to say?”
A moment passed. I took a breath and then laughed. “Fine. Go on.”
He leaned forward. “Okay, well, I was going to say something more like, I just got divorced and you are the first person I’ve really liked since then, but I have a feeling that if I let myself get close to you, and then you leave in a few weeks, it’s pretty likely that I’ll get my heart broken.”
“Oh.” My voice sounded small in my own ears.
“Not exactly what you expected me to say?”
“Not precisely,” I said quietly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that because no one ever falls in love with me.”
