“I think the worst part was that I didn’t see it coming—and everyone else did.”
“You know what they say: love is blind.”
“In my case, the cliché turned out to be true. But tell me—what’s really holding you back from going to live with your translator? Writers can work anywhere, right?”
“I’m not sure she wants me to. If she did, I’d imagine she’d have told me.”
“Not necessarily. Are you in touch very often?”
“We Skype every weekend, and exchange emails occasionally. I’ve only ever seen one tiny little corner of her apartment—the part that’s visible in the background on the computer. The rest of it I can only imagine.”
“When I was twenty years old, I fell in love with this guy in New York. I think the distance intensified my feelings for him. The impossibility of seeing him, of touching him . . . everything played out in my imagination. One day, I scraped together all the money I could and flew over there. I had one of the best weeks of my life. I came back exhilarated and full of hope, and decided to find a way of going back there permanently.”
“And did you?”
“No. As soon as I told him my plans, everything changed. He started sounding distant whenever we spoke, and our relationship tapered off in the run-up to winter. It took me a long time to get over him, but I never regretted the experience.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m staying here . . . to spare myself from having to get over her.”
“So your fear of flying isn’t really all that’s holding you back.”
“Well, we all need a good excuse for keeping our heads buried in the sand. So what’s yours?”
Mia pushed away her plate, drank her water in one gulp, and set the glass back down on the table.
“At the moment, I’d say the only excuse we need to think up is one to justify our next encounter,” she said, smiling as she dodged his last question.
“You really think we need one?”
“Yes, unless you want to be the first one who ‘feels like’ calling the other.”
“No, no, no, that’d be way too easy. There’s no law saying that men have to make the first move, especially not when you’re just friends. In fact, in the spirit of equal treatment, I think women should have to do it.”
“I couldn’t agree with you less.”
“Of course not, because it doesn’t work in your favor.”
They fell silent for a few moments, watching the passersby.
“Would you like a private tour of the Opera? When it’s closed to the public?” Paul asked.
“Is it true there’s an underground lake?”
“And beehives on the roof . . .”
“I think I would like that very much.”
“Good. I’ll set it up and call you with the details.”
“I’ll have to give you my number first.”
Paul picked up his pen and opened his notebook.
“Go ahead.”
“You have to ask for it first. Just because we’re only friends doesn’t mean these things don’t matter.”
“May I please have your phone number?” Paul sighed.
