The Futures(22)

I thought of Evan pacing the apartment the night before, of what he must be going through at work. After lunch, I sent him a text. He didn’t respond until hours later, when I was getting ready to leave. All good. Probably gonna be here late.

Can you take a break for dinner? I wrote.

I’ll go out around 6:30 to get something, he replied.

I glanced at my watch—it was approaching 5:30 p.m. I thought of one night from earlier that summer, from better days. This was a chance to get back what we’d lost track of. I walked north from my office and found a deli a few blocks from Evan’s office. His favorite sandwich, the same since college: a chicken cutlet with mozzarella and bacon. I took two sodas from the cooler, draped with strips of dusty plastic that reminded me of tentacles at a car wash.

I thought about calling, but I liked the notion of surprising him. Maybe it was the air of doom making me alert, but I felt optimistic. Renewed with hope. I leaned against the side of his building, my eyes closed against the sun, two sandwiches and two cans of soda in hand. Maybe we both just needed to try a little harder. This was a phase, and it would pass. I checked my watch. It was 6:30, then it was 6:45, then it was almost 7:00 p.m. Well. I couldn’t be upset with him. He didn’t know I was waiting.

A group finally emerged from the building, spit out of the revolving door like pinballs. Evan came out last, jogging to catch up with his coworkers. They all had their jackets off, their sleeves rolled up, and they were laughing about something.

“Evan!” I called, waving at him.

He looked confused when he saw me. The group kept walking, slower now, giving him the chance to catch up. A few of the guys stared at me.

“Hey,” he said, walking over. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought dinner.” I lifted the deli bag. “I thought we could eat together. Like the old days, you know.”

“Oh. That’s nice of you, Jules.”

“I got your favorite. Chicken cutlet with bacon and mozzarella.”

“The thing is,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “I was going to get dinner with the guys. We’re going to this new Indian place on Ninth. You understand, right?”

I squinted. I couldn’t see. The sun was right in my eyes.

He laughed, then took the sandwich from me. “I can have it for lunch tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“But what about—how was your day? I was watching the news at work.”

“We’re fine. Our CEO had to leave for Washington. He’s joining the government advisory team. So Michael’s in charge now. Acting CEO.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing. It means the WestCorp deal becomes a top priority. Pretty cool, right? Hey, I should really catch up with the other guys.” He rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment. “Thanks again, Jules.”

“You’re welcome.” I didn’t mean it.

He started to walk away, then paused. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. Guess whose byline I saw today?”

“What?” A truck was rushing past, blaring its horn.

“I said, ‘Adam McCard.’”

My heart sped up. My hands went clammy. I was suddenly glad Evan was already several feet away. My brain couldn’t think up a reply.

“He’s on the business beat at the Observer. He was writing about the crash. Small world.” Evan smiled. This time, he walked away for good.

Was it possible that he knew? Through the rest of that week, I waited for Evan to bring up Adam’s name again. I was certain he was going to test for my reaction, to watch for the fluttering pulse in my neck or the nervous twist of my hands—damning proof of how much that name still meant to me.

But that wasn’t Evan. I was the one who thought like that, not him. I could never decide whether Evan sensed those concealed parts of me and chose to leave them alone, or whether he thought that what he saw was everything there was to see. And the harder problem was—I could never decide which of those possibilities I wanted to be true.

*

A memory, from freshman year, from the time when Evan and I were just friends. A few months, that’s all it was, a ratio that diminishes as the years go by. But those days were intense and heady, when our affection was waxing like the moon, when the uncertainty electrified the air between us. In an odd way, those feel like our purest days. When we were truly ourselves, before we started bending and changing to accommodate each other.

But that’s not quite right. Because even then, even before we were together, I was hiding certain aspects of myself from Evan.

That night, in early October, we were on the couch in Evan’s common room. Evan was sitting upright at one end, and I was lying with my head in his lap, the TV low in the background. Evan would occasionally brush a piece of hair from my forehead, but he couldn’t see the expression on my face from where he sat. At the time, I was still dating Rob, my high school boyfriend. Evan didn’t mind talking about Rob, which surprised me. Maybe he knew it was only a matter of time before Rob would cease to be an obstacle.

“So you and Rob,” he said. “Do you ever worry that he might cheat on you?”

“Not really. We have too many friends who could report back to me if he did.”

“Even if he was secretive about it?”

“Rob thinks too highly of himself to cheat. Like, he doesn’t see himself as that kind of guy. He’s too proud.”