She’s never felt so keyed to devastation, the knife’s edge of what someone else might say.
“I work in risk management,” he says then. Heavy voice, and she listens for anything she can find in it. “Exposure, weaknesses, volatility. That’s my entire business, understanding how to balance the right amount of risk for the greatest amount of reward. You—you’re all risk, and uncertain reward.”
Lili flinches. “That’s—that’s fair,” she whispers. “I know it’s not... I knew forgiveness was unlikely, going into this. But I just—I wanted to give you answers. And to ask you, at least.”
Aleksandr nods. “Okay,” he says. “And so you have.”
How ends come suddenly, and quietly; a breath, a sigh. And it’s done.
Simple, the slice of cold as it cuts away—what could have been, might have been, what won’t be, anymore, any longer.
“Right,” Lili says, nodding—stinging eyes, tight throat, as she slings her tote over her shoulder; trying to cauterize this fast, but it hurts, more than she’d thought possible: pain, against the same wound, again. “I’ll just—I’ll go—”
“Lili—”
His hand finds hers, and everything inside of her breaks.
He draws her towards him as she starts crying. Around her, his arms grasp her fast, the knit of his sweater soft under her palms. “I’m sorry,” she gasps, hot tears against his chest. “I’ll leave—I promise, I’ll leave—I will—”
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, against her hair. “It’s alright.”
Rough, his voice sounds rough. Lili buries her face further into hissweater; the shake of her shoulders, under his arms, as he pulls her closer still, and she cries, collapsed into his side. “I don’t know—I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers between tears. “To let go—”
“I don’t either. But it’ll end—eventually, it will end.”
His voice is not steady. It sounds like words he’s trying to tell himself, too.
I don’t think this will ever end for me,she thinks.
I think it’ll only change.
They walk back to the loft in silence.
“Um, my sweater,” she says. “I can wait downstairs, if you—”
“It’s alright,” he says, opening his front door. “You can come up.”
They stand apart in the elevator.This is the man I love,she thinks.This is the man I love, and I am letting him go.
In his bedroom, she picks up her crumpled black sweater. “Would it be alright if I used your bathroom?” she asks, brushing a hand over her damp cheeks. A mess, she feels like a mess.
“Of course.”
Behind the closed door, she turns the faucet on. She doesn’t look inside the cabinet to see if Sanaë’s things are there. She just cries, holding onto the sink.
Economies, markets—they’re just the aggregation of all of us, stumbling along.The staff lounge was full of chatter, professors on break before afternoon classes. After lecture, she’d gone to Kerr’s office hours.
But doesn’t that discount our entire field to say we’re only trying to understand what’s irrational, rather than shape it?she contested.Isn’t economics a means of improving society? It has to be more than just an attempt to grapple with our own uncertainty, that’s so—irrational.
Spoken like a Marxist,Kerr laughed, pouring coffee.What drives markets, Marwan?
Depends what type of markets.
Don’t be smart.
She’d sighed.Supply and demand. Fiscal and monetary policy. Geopolitical—
Kerr waved away her answer.No, deeper than that. Our behavior—ouremotions becoming beliefs, translating into actions—that’s the ultimate market force. Behind the transactions of the marketplace, it’s just our hopes and our fears.
