“Hard Like Water,” he said.
She made an encouraging noise, although she hadn’t heard of the book. “What’s it about?”
He checked her interest, then continued: “It’s a novel set during the Chinese Cultural Revolution.”
“Okay,” Caroline said. She gestured for him to keep talking.
“It was in translation, unfortunately, so I’m afraid it lost a great deal of the cultural nuance, and I’m certain I caught less than half of what was still there. TheNew York TimesBook Review thought it was an homage toAnna Karenina, but I think that’s a very facile connection to draw out of train stations and affairs as mere plot points. If you have to assume any reference to Russian literature at all—and there’s no reason to believe a Chinese author was inspired by Russian literature, it’s far more likely that he’s referring to Chinese literature that the critic was unfamiliar with—compare it to Bulgakov, since he was at least exploring the inherent inapplicability of revolutionary economic theory to sexual morality.... This can’t possibly be interesting to you.”
His voice, which had gone unaffected and impassioned when he started talking about the book, turned confrontational when he noticed her head tilted toward her lap.
“No,” Caroline said, looking up from her phone. “I was listening. I bought the book.” She turned her phone so that he could see the electronic receipt.
“See?” she said, holding the screen out to him. “You can keep talking.”
Adrian developed a small wrinkle between his eyebrows. He didn’t continue, even though she wished he would. The book did sound interesting if it featured trains, an affair, and a revolution. More interesting than anything else she had read recently—theHarvard Business Review, mostly, though she had no one else to blame for that, since she could now afford any books she wanted to read. If he wanted to talk about books, she could read some more books.
“I’ll read it,” Caroline promised. “And then we can talk about it next week.”
Adrian pursed his lips, deep in thought, and Caroline found herself holding her breath, half-convinced that he was going to stand, thank her for her time, and tell her that he wasn’t interested in any kind of arrangement with her after all.
“Let me see if there’s anything at the symphony right now,” he said, pulling out his own phone.
After a few minutes of scrolling, he told her to buy tickets for next Tuesday night.
A small effervescent flower of anticipation bloomed in Caroline’s chest. She barely contained her rising glee. Done. This was huge progress.
“Can you make dinner reservations for afterward?” she asked.
“Yes, I can,” he said, slowly nodding.
“And send me calendar invites for whatever you decide on for the next weekend?” she followed up.
He made her wait for a bit before he nodded, agreeingto that too. Caroline’s face split into a grin. Now she had plans. A whole week’s worth of plans.
“Okay, what do I wear to the symphony?” she asked. “I’ve never been.”
“A cocktail dress,” he replied with a minute shrug.
Caroline tried to summon the parameters of a cocktail dress and failed.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she told Adrian.
He’d relaxed after agreeing to spend at least a week taking her around town, but now he began to frown again.
“You can wear whatever you want.”
“I want to wear what I’m supposed to wear.”
“The same thing you’d wear to the theater or an evening charity event,” he said. “I’ll be in a suit, if that helps.”
“Well, I still have the dress I wore to my sister’s wedding. It was kind of a peachy yellow, and there were sequins across here—” She sketched a hand across her neckline. “I was sixteen.” That was just before her father had pulled her out of high school to focus on tennis, and she hadn’t been to a formal event since.
Adrian looked at her. Caroline could recognizejudgmentas an expression pretty well.
Caroline sighed. “Please explain it to me like I’m from Mars,” she said.
After another silent evaluation of her motives, Adrian held out his hand for her phone. When she obliged, he pecked at it for a minute or two, then looked at her.
