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“What is it you really do?”
He raises a brow. “You don’t want to know my name, but this is what you want to know?”
“I just didn’t want to intrude,” I say.
He gives me a look. “Okay, I recently got an incredible opportunity. It’s a little outside my comfort space. I’m a stickler for routine.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed,” I interrupt.
“Well, actually—” He stops before he says something more, probably giving away identifying details. “I still haven’t told my friend about it.”
“Is it any good?” I ask.
“Yes, it is,” he says. “I never choose anything I don’t want.”
Heat moves through me again, sudden, unwanted. He isn’t just talking about his new job.
“Well, you should tell your friend about it. I’m sure he’ll be happy for you.”
We finish the rest of the dinner in silence. I can’t stop thinking about Friday, can’t stop thinking about the next time I can have a casual dinner without worrying about whether there is MSG in my food.
It follows me when he pays, despite my objection. It follows me when we step outside and the cold air hits my face. It follows me when he stands beside me under the restaurant awning, close enough that I can feel his presence without him touching me.
The rain has softened into mist. The street is slick and bright.
D takes out his phone. “I’ll get you a car.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He orders it anyway. Usually, that would annoy me. Tonight, I’m too tired to pretend it does.
The car is four minutes away.
Four minutes until I go home. Four minutes until the night becomes a story I can file under reckless but contained.
I look at him while he puts his phone away. He’s older than me. Much older, maybe. There’s silver in his hair, lines at the corners of his eyes, a steadiness that doesn’t belong to men my age. He should feel like a bad idea in a way that makes me step back.
The car turns the corner and slows near the curb.
This is the moment. Say goodnight. Get in. Go home.
My body doesn’t move.
D looks at the car, then at me. “That’s yours.”
“I know.”
But I don’t reach for the handle.
I think of Friday again. Not in details. I can’t let myself go there right now. Just the fact of it. The appointment. The procedure. The next version of myself waiting in a clinic room.
I think of the last few weeks. The injections. The envelopes. Petra’s eyes moving over me like she’s checking for flaws. My body becoming a project other people discuss in calm voices.
I chose this. I know I chose this.
But tonight, standing in the mist beside a man who still only exists in my phone as D, I want one thing that is not chosen because it’s useful. One thing that is not practical. One thing that belongs only to me.
