Paul considered this. “But if it was casual sex, he shouldn’t have minded being turned down, right? I mean, if it was casual, why would he care one way or the other?”
“Huh. I don’t know.”
Sarah thought back to the time when Ren had pulled away from her group of friends. What had happened, exactly? He had simply stopped coming to their parties. And since she had rarely been the one who invited him—that was typically Kristie, who invited everybody—Sarah hadn’t fully registered that he was gone at first, especially because she was busy getting back together with Ivan for what proved to be a last, doomed attempt to work things out.
Ren hadn’t announced to her that they were no longer friends. He had still smiled when they passed each other on campus, still waved when they were in line for coffee near each other. But he had never approached her again, never come over, never chatted with her in the hallways about art or music. Had he been stung by her rejection? Was it the fact that she called him a sex addict?
At the time she had chalked it up, perhaps unfairly, to the fact that there was no chance of having sex with her and he had worked his way through all the other available women.
Now she found herself hoping he wouldn’t disappear again. She hoped he wouldn’t leave Paul’s soccer league without a word, giving no reason why. But that was silly. He was married now. And he had chatted with her like everything was normal between them.
“I do like him,” she said firmly. “He’s a good guy. He’s really decent and kind. He’s just a little weird when it comes to women.”
“Weird like…”
“Weird like he was a player. That’s all.”
Paul considered this. “He’s probably grown up since then.”
“I’m sure he has. He’s married.”
3
ART GALLERY OF ONTARIO, MAY 2011
To her surprise,Ren’s name appeared in her text notifications only two weeks after the soccer game.
it’s ren if this is still sarah. want to go to AGO for yael bartana exhibit? haven’t been
He was referring to a conceptual video show at the Art Gallery of Ontario, one of the city’s larger museums for Canadian modern and contemporary art. Sarah felt a bright flash of excitement as she typed her response.
Would love to.Vaguely alienating political art and you haven’t been yet? What’s happened to you?
She wondered if she’d overstepped as soon as she sent it, whether they were still friends who could tease each other like that. She added a moment later:Kidding of course. Mostly free for the next two weekends.
He texted back less than a minute later:next sunday works. you tell me when. i will explain in person how mortally offended i was by your earlier text.
She laughed, and they made a plan.
The daysbefore Sarah met up with Ren proved to be an unexpectedly difficult time for her. First, Paul announced that he was moving out of their apartment in order to move in with his girlfriend Trish, who had found a place with a patio garden and wanted to split the rent with him.
Sarah wasn’t a huge fan of Patricia, the pretty blond actress whom Paul had met while they were doing a Sam Shepard play together, ripping each other’s hearts out using wobbly regional American accents. In real life, Trish had an obsession with Kate Middleton and dressed in clothes that made her look like she’d always just arrived from playing polo. She spoke in a high, gentle voice and had adopted a weary tolerance toward Paul’s jokes, which Sarah took as a warning sign of trouble ahead. Trish didn’t seem as interested in the craft of acting as she did in how she looked while doing it…though maybe that was unfair. It wasn’t like they’d discussed Stanislavsky technique together, but Trish seemed to spend a disproportionate quantity of time speculating about which outfits to wear to auditions versus what her characters’ motivations were.
But Paul had every right to move in with his girlfriend; he should do whatever made him happy. The problem was that now Sarah needed a new roommate because she couldn’t afford their place on her own. So she had invited Liam over and tentatively floated the issue with him, hoping that he might offer to move in himself.
“It’s tricky,” Liam replied when she had barely finished. “I still have four months left on my lease with Henry.” Henry was a young orthopedist in Liam’s hospital who collected Star Wars memorabilia, and Sarah had never gotten the impression that he and Liam were especially close.
“Okay,” Sarah said gently. “So are you planning on renewing your lease with him? I mean, whatever you want is fine.”
“I guess we’ll see in four months,” he said flatly.
“Okay.” Her voice sounded small in her own ears, like she was speaking from the bottom of a staircase.
“Sorry, I’ve had a really stressful day.” He sighed as his gaze turned to something out the window. “Someone died today.”
Her face fell. “I am so sorry.”
She felt horrible that a patient had died at his job. All the same, Sarah had a small, disloyal thought as she watched him pondering the trees outside her apartment window. She had noticed that people had a tendency to die in the E.R. on the days when she brought up important topics with Liam, like the status of their relationship, or how long he might want to live in Toronto, or whether he wanted kids. There seemed to be some mysterious, cosmic connection between Sarah saying, “What if we planned a trip next summer?” and the mortality rate in the emergency medicine department at Toronto General.
