“Okay, sure.”
Mark arrived a few minutes later. I felt nervous waiting for him, though I wasn’t sure why. When I opened the door and saw him standing there, rubbing the back of his neck, I realized the problem: I found him attractive, though in a very different way than Paul. Paul was funny, clever, polite. Mark was a misplacedNew Yorker, all cynicism and dark humor. He felt familiar in a way that Paul never had.
He stepped inside and deposited a box of pastries on the table.
“These are for you. Had to get some business done in town today,” he said. “It’s gotten nasty out there. Figured I’d stop in and check on you after our chat the other night.”
“Check on me?”
“See if you changed your mind about a date.”
“Oh.” His reckless confidence was charming, in a way. I let myself wonder if I was making a mistake, picking the wrong guy, but it didn’t matter. I had fallen for Paul whether I wanted to or not.
I opened my mouth to say that Paul and I were dating but then wondered if that was still true. Paul and I had been together for a Friday and a Saturday afternoon; we weren’t exactly a twenty-episode K-drama miniseries. If Paul broke up with me after one date, I would be allowed to grieve for twenty-four hours and then move on, according to my friend Jasmine. It might be better not to say anything to Mark.
“That seems like a no,” Mark said ruefully. “Fair enough. Chocolate éclair? They’re from a bakery across the street from my house called the Chocolate Fair. I have to buy some every week or the smell torments me. I feel like a priest living next to a whorehouse.”
“I wouldn’t peg you as a man of the cloth.”
“A fallen priest. Like that fellow inFleabag.”
“Or Dimmesdale inThe Scarlet Letter.”
“Exactly. Self-flagellating about my éclair addiction.”
I made him a cup of coffee, and we sat at my table eating pastries. They were slender, rich, and lighter than air, and did a nice job of earning their sinful reputation.
“So I know this may not matter to you,” Mark said slowly, “but Paul’s ex-wife is back in town.” I froze at Mark’s malice, then wondered if it was indeed malice or indirect kindness.
“Oh, yeah. She stopped by.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Paul told you?”
“I was with him. At his house.”
“You were with Paul? On a date?”
“Sort of.” I didn’t want to admit to Mark that it was our first one, officially.
“Sort of.” Mark chuckled. “Paul is something, isn’t he. So how did that go? When she stopped by, I mean?”
“He spoke to her for a few minutes outside. He seemed surprised.”
“I’ll bet.” Mark leaned back, looking delighted. He could lounge in the stories of other people’s misery like a cat on a sunny windowsill.
“So how did you hear about it?” I asked. “Did Paul tell you?”
“Trish called me. She and I used to work together. She was putting out feelers for jobs and wanted to know if I hated her.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said I hated everyone, but I didn’t have it in for her in particular.”
I took this in, trying for Mark’s casual irony. “So it sounds like she has fallen out of love with documentary filmmaking.”
Mark snorted, then looked into his coffee mug. “If you want my opinion, it sounds like she wants to get back together with Paul. That was another thing she wanted to talk about. How he was doing.”
I tried not to look like any of this was affecting me. “Well, it’s up to Paul what he wants to do. If he still loves her, he should be with her.”
