“No, I want you to. I’m just tired. When will you be getting home?”
“We’re flying out this weekend. Can we really stay in your apartment?”
“Of course. Don’t even think about it. I’ll tell the doorman to give you his spare key. I want to see you both. I miss you. A lot.”
I felt the tears coming, then, and stopped them with an effort. This was good. I missed Hannah. I was going to get to see her again. This was good, wasn’t it? Whatever was going on with Paul, I didn’t have to fixate on it, now. The rest of my life could cushion the blow.
A couple of minutes after I hung up, I saw my phone ring again. When I saw Paul’s name, I thought about not picking up, but then I did. Whatever came, I wanted to be a grown-up about it.
“Hey, Abby,” he began tentatively.
“Hey, Paul.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk last night.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Yes, I do. I want to. You always do that. Act like you’re second best.”
When I said nothing, Paul continued. “Trish came by. She wanted to have a whole conversation about all of this stuff from our marriage. I didn’t—it kind of blindsided me, to be honest. There was a lot of stuff going on that she never told me about. She always said she didn’t want kids, but she was actually goingback and forth about it, and then she found out she was infertile, and she didn’t tell me. Anyway. It doesn’t matter.”
I said nothing, waiting for him to go on. My heart felt like it was growing smaller in my chest, my heartbeat fading away.
“The important thing for you to know is, it’s over. And I didn’t want you to think that because it took me so long to get back to you…I mean, she didn’t leave until after midnight and that felt too late to call.”
“We both have a lot of obligations,” I said, thinking of Laura, thinking of my job, thinking of his mother.
“Can I come over tonight and see you?”
“No,” I found myself saying. “Let’s talk after—we have that show Thursday. With the Newfingers. Can we talk after that?”
“Of course.”
“Unless you don’t want me to do it anymore.”
“Of course I want you to do it.”
“I should go.” My voice was breaking. “I have to get some work done today.”
“Alright. If you want to talk, call me. And I’m here. Okay? For whenever you need me.”
Tears were rising, but I could head them off if I was quick enough. “I know. I have to go.”
I hung up the phone. I felt like I was floating in space. I couldn’t tell him yet. We would do our silly improv show, because I wanted to make Lisette happy, and then I would tell him that this was all falling apart, and I had to go back to New York.
And then what? He would say that we could make it work? That he would fly down to New York all the time, and I would fly up to Newfoundland? That we’d meet for romantic weekends in Toronto or Montreal? That he was madly in love with me?
Thursday night,we met at the Puffin Hut a few minutes before the show to discuss the evening. Paul’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and I walked over and gave him a hug, treasuring it like it was the last one, and then gave one to Lisette. Mark was at the bar, buying himself a beer.
“If I just don’t jump in, you guys will be okay with that, right?” I said. My heart felt like a solid lump of lead in my chest. I was grieving already, but I wanted to get through this. My last challenge to myself. My last gesture to Lisette. My proof that I was a different person.
“Sure,” Lisette replied. “But you will. I know you, and you’ll be amazing.”
Mark was giving Paul a dark, curious look as he walked over. He said casually, “Trish called me.” Paul’s attention shot to him.
“She called you? I didn’t know you guys were in touch,” Paul said quietly.
“She’s talking about doing some work for me. You don’t mind, do you?”
