P.S. from Paris(35)

He picked up the laptop from under the bed and opened it.

“For a date that only lasted ten minutes, this is one solid follow-up!”

Lauren rolled her eyes.

“So they hit it off, despite your tasteless joke—good for them. But don’t jump the gun.”

“Just making observations from what I read, is all.”

“He’s in love with his Korean translator, so I’m not sure this mysterious stranger would make any difference. Or if she even wants to.”

“In the meantime, I’m going to print this out and leave it right on his desk where he can see it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Just to let him know I’m not stupid.”

Lauren read the letter again.

“She just wants to be friends.”

“And you know this because . . . ?”

“Because I’m a woman, and it’s plain to see, written in black and white. Emails don’t count. Translated into womanspeak: I’m not trying to get you into bed. And she talks about something that might be pretty important going on at this restaurant, but Paul doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it.”

“And what about the whole ‘things that are out of reach are always more desirable’ thing? Come on, you don’t think she’s flirting there, just a little bit?”

“I think your mind is playing tricks on you because you’re so desperate for Paul to stay in Paris. If you want my opinion, this woman is fresh out of a relationship, on the rebound. She seems to be genuinely looking for a friend and that’s that.”

“You should have gone into psychology instead of neurosurgery.”

“I won’t dignify that with a response. But even assuming that there are mixed messages . . . if you want Paul to take the bait, the last thing you should do is bring it up.”

“You think?”

“How is it I sometimes feel like I know your best friend better than you do? Or at least the way his mind works.”

With that, Lauren went out to make breakfast.

In the living room, she could see Paul asleep on the sofa. As soon as she entered, he opened his eyes and yawned, then slowly got up.

“Didn’t quite make it to your bed, huh?”

“I was working late. I only meant to take a break, but it seems I must have crashed.”

“Do you always work that late?”

“Yeah, pretty often.”

“You look awful. You have to stop burning the candle at both ends.”

“Is that my physician speaking?”

“No. It’s your friend.”

While Lauren poured him a cup of coffee, Paul checked his email, even though he knew that Kyong almost never replied right away. Nonetheless, he retired to his bedroom with a stung look on his face.

Just at that moment, Arthur came in. Lauren waved him over.

“What?” he whispered.

“Maybe we should push back our departure a few days.”

“What’s up with him?”

“Nothing’s up, everything’s down. He seems really bummed.”

“He was in good spirits just last night.”

“That was last night.”

“Hey! My spirits are fine!” Paul shouted from his room. “And I can hear every word you’re saying,” he added as he came through to join them. Arthur and Lauren remained silent for a moment.

“Why don’t you come along with us, spend a few days in the South?” Arthur suggested.

“Because I’m writing a novel. I leave in three weeks and I want to have at least a hundred pages for Kyong. And, more importantly, I want her to like those pages. I want her to be proud of me.”

“You need to stop living in your books, man, and try living in the real world for a change. You need to go out and meet people—and I don’t just mean other writers.”

“I meet plenty of people during book signings.”

“And I’m sure you have very meaningful exchanges with them, spanning ‘hello,’ ‘thank you,’ and deep thoughts like ‘good-bye,’” Arthur said. “Do you call them on the phone when you’re feeling lonely?”

“No, I have you for that, even if the time difference is sometimes tricky. Please stop worrying about me. If I keep listening to you, I’m going to end up believing I have a problem—and I don’t. I like my life, I like my work, I like spending the night diving into my stories, I like the way it feels. You know the feeling, Lauren. You like the way it feels to spend nights in the OR sometimes, don’t you?”

“I don’t like it, though,” Arthur sighed.

“But it’s her life, and you don’t try to stop her, because you love her just the way she is,” Paul replied. “We’re not so different. Enjoy your romantic getaway, and if my Korean trip cures me of my flying phobia, I’ll come and see you in San Francisco in the fall. Now, there’s a nice title for a novel: Autumn in San Francisco.”

“True. But only if you’re the main character.”

Arthur and Lauren packed their suitcases. Paul accompanied them to the station, and when the train pulled away from the platform, in spite of everything he’d told them, he felt the heavy weight of solitude bearing down on his shoulders.