I glanced back at Lisette, unsure if we should continue or not, and she stepped forward.
“Folks, our next improv is going to be called ‘No Hecklers.’” There were chuckles. “Because there is good and bad audience input, and we need the kind of audience input we can actually use. Here’s what we need from you. We want stories about why you broke up with somebody.”
The lights lowered again. Things were back under control. We finished the rest of our set in a daze and went to sit down at the little table. I don’t know how the rest of it went. It didn’t matter.
Raahid got up on stage after us. “Well,” he said, “I usually do a set about how Newfoundlanders are way too friendly. But thatmay not be appropriate this evening, so let me switch that up a bit.”
I glanced at my phone, then got up and slipped out during Raahid’s set to look for Paul. The street outside was empty. Paul was gone.
I sent him a text:Are you ok?
Lisette appeared next a moment later. “No Paul?” I shook my head. We looked out into the empty night, full of stars that I wasn’t going to see when I got back to New York. At home, you could forget that this many stars even existed.
Ellen, the manager, came outside. “He left with his mother,” she said flatly. “Wow. He’s such a nice guy, you know?” She pulled out a cigarette and tapped it against the box as we took this in.
Lisette said, “She’s got a lot of problems. He’s been trying to set some boundaries with her and clearly, she didn’t like it.”
“Well,” Ellen said, “maybe the two of them can talk it out.”
That might have been the most classically Canadian optimism I’d ever heard.
“Or he can just tell her to fuck off,” Lisette said.
“Or that,” Ellen agreed. She lit a cigarette.
“He’ll be okay,” Lisette said, putting a hand on my arm.
“I know.” What I was thinking was that tonight was the night I was supposed to tell Paul that I was no longer allowed to work remotely, that it was over for us. There was Paul, trying to set boundaries with his mother and his ex, and I was about to abandon him.
Half an hour later,Lisette, Mark and I sat with Raahid in a bar three doors down from the Puffin Hut while the show continued. We were all waiting for Paul to get in touch. Lisette filled Raahid in on the brief outlines of the situation with Paul’s mother.
“That’s rough,” Raahid said. “My mother hates that I’m a stand-up, but she doesn’t come and try to ruin my sets. She just wants me to go to engineering school.”
“I wish I could run her over with a car,” Lisette said. “Her and my ex-boyfriend. I’m not saying I’d enjoy it. I’d feel really guilty the whole time. But some people have forgotten that they owe anything to other people.”
Mark caught her eye and then looked at the table. I wondered if we were all feeling guilty for things we should have told people and hadn’t.
I finally heard from Paul an hour later, via text.Are you still out?
I wrote back right away.We’re all still at the bar. Do you want to come here? Do you want me to come over?
A moment.Can you come over?
I texted back,be right there.
I looked around. “It’s Paul. I’m going to go talk to him.”
Lisette and Mark nodded, with very different expressions.
“Are you two together?” Raahid asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“No,” I said, after a second. “We’re just friends.”
Mark rose and walked me to the door. He looked at me seriously. “If you need to talk later on…”
“Thanks, Mark.”
He kissed me on the cheek, and I got a brief whiff of his musk and citrus cologne.
