Do I Know You?(64)

“Really?” I sip from my glass. “That’s your opening line?”

Meeting my gaze, Graham smirks. I sort of knew he would. You don’t get to be a litigator without a competitive streak. “You have a better one?” he asks.

I consider for a moment. “How important is love to you?” I counter.

“More important than anything,” he replies unhesitatingly.

I narrow my eyes, putting on skepticism. “Anything?” I press him.

“More important than a job, or where I live,” he says.

I have to smile, recognizing he’s referencing our game, our first pieces of character construction. What’s more, there’s tenderness in what he’s saying, romance in his references. Santa Fe Graham loves me. San Diego Graham loves me.

I’m opening my mouth to say the same when the bell rings.

“People on my right, take your wine glasses and move to the next table,” the leader instructs.

I stand swiftly. Perusing my eyes over the tables, I make like I’m going to walk away. To my left, someone veers in Graham’s direction. Abruptly, I turn back and drop into my old seat before the other person can.

I change my voice once more—perkier, the voice I use for characters in their early twenties. “Hi. I’m Alex,” I say. “What do you want your life to look like in five years?”

Slowly, Graham grins, catching on to my ploy. He enthusiastically plays along, answering my questions while fabricating an entirely new persona. He’s a screenwriter—then a surgeon. He inquires what my dream date is (drive-in movie), whether I prefer brunch or dinner (brunch), where my favorite place to travel would be (Venice). Not only is it fun and easy, I’m moved by the genuine care Graham puts into each question.

Every time the bell rings, I stand up, do my best impression of someone leaving the table for other dating pastures—then promptly return, making sure no one else claims my spot. I pay no mind to the confused glares I elicit.

We do this for four rounds. Four glasses of wine. The constant character reinvention is a new level of our game, and while exhausting, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. Like memorizing lines all night with your best friend, lapsing into sleep-deprived laughter over your scripts.

When I sit down for round five, I start in like usual. “Hi, I’m . . .”

I stop. For the first time, no new name comes. I’ve forgotten my lines. I’m blank. Except, with Graham watching me, smiling half-expectantly, what I’m feeling isn’t the onstage terror of having misplaced the beginning of my soliloquy—heart racing, palms coated in sweat. It’s something deeper, more fragile, more fundamental. I push myself, working with desperate hope to find my next personality.

Preempting me, Graham sticks out his hand.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Graham. I live in San Diego and I’m a lawyer. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

My eyes widen a little. Then I feel my expression soften. It’s unexpected—which is itself something I’m starting to expect. Graham is being spontaneous, even courageous. He’s putting himself out there, his real self. It’s not how I envisioned this evening, but it’s incredibly endearing. “Hi, Graham,” I say, taking his hand. “I—” I hesitate, hitching for a second on this new direction. But I press on. “I also live in San Diego. I’m a voice actress. It’s nice to meet you, too.” My voice is my own, the one I said I would marry him with, the voice I read my vows with. It feels like breathing.

His eyes never leave mine. “Are you having a nice time?” he asks.

“I am.” I smile, my fingers rolling the stem of my wineglass. “My date has been wonderful company. He’s really incredible.” I feel my gaze warm, the pull in my heart of how deeply I mean my words—what I wished I’d helped him to believe before.

He hears me. He understands me, I know he does. He’s glowing like the lights strung on the rooftop. “I’m glad to hear it,” Graham replies. “Do you like voice acting?”

“I love it,” I say, gathering momentum. Relaxing into myself. “I just landed the job for this new book by Katrina Freeling and Nathan Van Huysen. I can’t wait to record.”

Graham drains his glass. His eyes sparkle.

“Tell me about it,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

I do. The current of conversation sweeps me forward effortlessly, into the parts of my job I love, the details of my days, the things I’m looking forward to. Graham leans forward, listening carefully, asking more questions. While I speak, I gradually figure out why exactly this feels right. It’s personal, this return to my real self. And it’s partnership, this give-and-take with Graham, with my husband. I’m me, and we’re us.

Of course, the bell rings. When I start to get up, Graham reaches out and takes my hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says.

I still. With a gentle smile on my lips, I nod. My fingers tighten on his, and when I stand, I pull him with me.





38


    Graham


IN THE ELEVATOR down, Eliza’s fingers find mine. We don’t speak, though not for lack of something to say. In fact, I feel more conversation, more questions, ready and waiting on my tongue.

What’s stopping me is only giddy expectation. Not wanting to disturb the perfect momentum of now. It has its own sweetness, this conversational pause—something, frankly, not unlike the walk down to my room last night. We know the silence is only prelude, not some endless expanse past the coda.