Page 86 of Enzo

“You're quiet.” Enzo stands beside me now.

“I'm allowed to be.”

“I've never seen evidence of that.”

I laugh. “You can be funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was being factual.”

But the corners of his lips turn up into a smile.

“You've never been to New York?”

“I'd never left Chicago until I went to Venice.”

“First time here, huh?”

“First time anywhere. I've always wanted to go to New York. And Venice was a dream, another country. I never thought that would happen and now not only I've been there, but I’m here. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up any minute now.”

I stare out of the window again as the room falls silent. It's mesmerizing, and therapeutic, to stand and stare, so high up, seeing the sea of lights below.

“Why did you want to see the old depot?”

The question I’ve been dreading, but I knew he would ask. I just didn’t expect it so soon. “I … I wasn’t sure exactly what was expected of me … for the project.”

“And now?”

I swallow, stalling for time, trying to find a sensible, believable answer.

“Now I see what you created from almost nothing.”

He nods.

“Is there anywhere you’d want to see?” he asks after a while.

I sigh, remembering the list I looked at while I was having my lunch, when my day was still peaceful. “I made a list of things I was going to do after I handed the mask back …” My voice trails off.

If only I hadn’t done that, none of this would have happened. Enzo would be blissfully unaware of my presence in this city, and I’d be having noodles near Times Square.

“Maybe you can sightsee next time,” he suggests.

“Next time?” That’s easy for him to say. He’s assuming there will be a next time. As if it’s easy for me to fly here and spend the weekend sightseeing. Rent is my biggest worry and priority. After that, and living costs, I don’t have much left over. I’d never have been able to come here were it not for Penelope’s generosity. It proves how worlds apart Enzo and I are that he thinks there'll be a next time.

***

ENZO

In this penthouse, it feels like we’re shielded from the outside world.

For now.

Earlier I asked Molly what she wanted to order for takeout. She looked through all the different menus, from the many different restaurants in the city, and said she was having a tough time deciding. Forty minutes later, having watched her peruse one menu after another, I told her we were ordering room service.

We end up having pizza.

We’re soon sitting across one another at a dark wooded dining table, next to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

“What about your work?” I ask her. “Won't your children wonder where you are?”