I'm Thinking of Ending Things(16)

“I know what you mean,” I say.

“There’s an old example that gets used in first-year philosophy. It’s about context. It goes like this: Todd has a small plant in his room with red leaves. He decides he doesn’t like the look of it and wants his plant to look like the other plants in his house. So he very carefully paints each leaf green. After the paint dries, you can’t tell that the plant has been painted. It just looks green. Are you with me?”

“Yeah.”

“The next day he gets a call from his friend. She’s a plant biologist and asks if he has a green plant she can borrow to do some tests on. He says no. The next day, another friend, this time an artist, calls to ask if he has a green plant she can use as a model for a new painting. He says yes. He’s asked the same question twice and gives opposite answers, and each time he’s being honest.”

“I see what you mean.”

Another turn, this time at a four-way stop.

“It seems to me that in the context of life and existing and people and relationships and work, being sad is one correct answer. It’s truthful. Both are right answers. The more we tell ourselves that we should always be happy, that happiness is an end in itself, the worse it gets. And by the way, this isn’t a very original thought or anything. You know I’m not trying to be brilliant right now, right? We’re just talking.”

“We’re communicating,” I say. “We’re thinking.”

IT’S MY PHONE THAT BREAKS the silence, ringing from my bag. Again.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching down to retrieve it. It’s my number on the screen. “My friend again.”

“Maybe you should answer it this time.”

“I really don’t feel like talking. She’ll stop calling eventually. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I put the phone in my bag but pick it up again when it beeps. Two new messages. This time, I’m glad the volume of the radio is high. I don’t want Jake to hear the messages. But the Caller’s not talking in the first message. It’s just sounds, noises, running water. In the second, it’s more running water and I can hear him walking, footsteps, and what sounds like hinges, a door closing. It’s him. It has to be.

“Anything important?” Jake asks.

“No.” I hope to sound casual, but I can feel my face growing warmer.

I’m going to have to deal with this when we get back, tell someone, anyone, about the Caller. But now, if I do say something to Jake, I’ll also have to tell him I’ve been lying. It can’t keep going on. Not like this. Not anymore. The running water continues. I’m not sure why he’s doing this to me.

“Really? Not important? Two calls, not even texts, in a row. Seems important, no?”

“People are dramatic sometimes,” I say. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. My phone’s about to die anyway.”

I THINK JAKE’S LAST GIRLFRIEND was a grad student in another department. I’ve seen her around. She’s cute: athletic, with blond hair. A runner. He definitely dated her. He says they’re still friends. Not close friends. They don’t hang out. But he said they had coffee a week before we met at the pub. I probably sound jealous. I’m not. I’m curious. I’m also not a runner.

It’s weird, but I’d like to talk to her. I’d like to sit down with a pot of tea and ask her about Jake. I’d like to know why they started dating. What was it about him that attracted her? I’d like to know why it didn’t last. Did she end things, or did Jake? If it was her, for how long was she thinking of ending things? Doesn’t this seem like a reasonable idea, chatting with a new partner’s ex?

I’ve asked him about her a few times. He’s coy. He doesn’t say much. He just says their relationship wasn’t long or very serious. That’s why it’s her I have to talk to. To hear her side.

We’re alone in a car in the middle of nowhere. Now seems as good a time as any.

“So, how did it end?” I say. “With your last girlfriend, I mean.”

“It never really started,” he says. “It was minor and temporary.”

“But you didn’t start out thinking that.”

“It didn’t start out any more serious than when it ended.”

“Why didn’t it last?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“How do you know?”

“You always know,” he says.

“But how do we know when a relationship becomes real?”

“Are you asking in general, or about that relationship specifically?”

“That one.”

“There was no dependency. Dependency equates to seriousness.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” I said. “What about real? How do you know when something’s real?”

“What is real?” he says. “It’s real when there are stakes, when something’s on the line.”

For a while we don’t say anything.

“Do you remember me telling you about the woman who lives across the street?” I ask.

I think we must be getting close to the farm. Jake hasn’t confirmed we are, but we’ve been driving for a while. Must be close to two hours.

“Who?”

“The older woman from across the street. Remember?”