The waiter ca and went and ca back again and they barely noticed. Just like they barely noticed any of the other things that had happened around them.
Two and a half hours had passed because nobody was watching the ti — it wasn’t necessarily quick or slow, more a genuine passing. The restaurant had turned over around them twice, other tables filling and emptying while they stayed.
Ryan had told her about the ti he’d accidentally deployed broken code to a production server at ridian on a Friday afternoon and spent the weekend convinced he was going to be fired, only to co in Monday and find that nobody had noticed because the system it affected hadn’t been used in eight months.
Zara had told him about a shoot in Tokyo where the photographer spoke no English, she spoke no Japanese, and they’d spent six hours communicating entirely through a translator app and increasingly dramatic hand gestures, and the resulting photos were so of the best she’d ever taken.
Ryan said his mother still called him every Sunday at noon regardless of ti zones, circumstances, or any indication that he might be busy, and that he had never once not answered.
Zara confessed she had a fear of escalators that she’d never told anyone because it was too embarrassing to explain, and that in cities with escalators she took the stairs and told people she preferred the exercise.
"Escalators," Ryan said.
"Don’t."
"I’m not saying anything."
"Your face is saying sothing."
"My face is neutral."
"Your face is laughing."
"My face is deeply respectful of all fears regardless of their—"
"Ryan."
"They are a little terrifying though," he said. "If you think about it. The teeth. The whole chanism."
"Thank you," she said, pointing at him. "Finally soone admits it."
"I didn’t say I was scared of them."
"You said they were terrifying."
"Objectively. I process the terror and continue."
"I process the terror and take the stairs and tell people I like the exercise. We’re the sa."
"Definitely not."
She threw a piece of bread at him. He caught it, which seed to annoy her more than if he’d let it hit him.
The waiter appeared and asked if they’d like anything else. They both looked at their glasses, which had been empty for a while, and Ryan ordered another round without asking, which Zara approved of with a small nod.
---
The drinks arrived and settled them into sothing slightly quieter. Less comfortable — the conversation had moved through the easy territory and arrived sowhere that had more weight to it.
Zara turned her glass on the table.
"The phone call," she said.
Ryan looked at her.
"What I said. About every ti you pull back." She kept her eyes on the glass. "I’ve been thinking about that since I said it. About what it ans."
"What have you concluded."
"That I don’t fully understand it." She looked up. "I’ve thought about why the attention from everyone else always made want to disappear, and why the opposite from you makes want to do the opposite." A pause. "It’s sothing about — not being the only one, I think."
Ryan was quiet.
"Every man who’s ever been interested in ," she said, "has made feel like I was the only thing in the room. Like I was a destination. And I always found that—" she searched for the word, "—suffocating. It was too much. It asked too much back."
"And soone who isn’t treating you like a destination."
"Doesn’t suffocate," she said. "It’s the opposite." She shook her head slightly. "I don’t know what that says about ."
Ryan looked at her. "I have a theory."
"Tell ."
"You have a kink."
Her head ca up. "I absolutely do not."
"The evidence suggests—"
"I’m not—" she pointed at him, "—don’t say that word again, I’m not like that."
"What is it then."
"I’m just—" she gestured vaguely, "—wired differently. It’s not a kink, it’s a personality trait."
"Those are sotis the sa thing."
"They are not." She sat back. "I’m just saying I find it more interesting when a man isn’t orbiting desperately, and when he deals with the sa thing I do. That’s not a—it’s just a preference."
"A preference," Ryan said.
"Yes."
"For n who have other won’s attention."
"I didn’t say that."
"You implied—"
"I implied nothing, you’re inferring."
Ryan smiled.
She pointed at him again. "Stop smiling like that."
"I’m smiling neutrally."
"You’re smiling like you’ve proven sothing."
"I haven’t proven anything," he said. "I’m just noting that the description you gave, of what you find interesting, is a very specific description."
Zara looked at him for a mont. Then she picked up her drink and took a sip and looked at the room.
"Are you a playboy?" she said.
Ryan’s fork stopped midway to his mouth. He looked at her.
"A playboy," he repeated.
"You know. Multiple won. Leading people on."
He set the fork down.
He was quiet for a mont, and when he spoke it was slower than before.
"Back in college," he said, "I wasn’t good at talking to won. I wasn’t cool. I spent most of my ti studying. Didn’t do parties, didn’t do the whole social circuit." He looked at the table. "But I t a girl. Emma. She hated parties as much as I did. She seed as focused as I was, as serious. I thought she was exactly what I was looking for because she seed like the sa thing I was."
Zara was listening.
"After college we ended up at the sa company. ridian. The job was miserable, the pay was bad, but I told myself I was happy because I was with her." He paused. "I noticed things. The way she and my boss Jas were around each other. The amount of ti. The way conversations stopped when I walked into rooms." He looked up. "I never let myself think the obvious thing. I kept explaining it away."
"Ryan—"
User Comments
0 comments from readers