off and the bed in a corner of the room, smallish, without posts or headboard, covered in a bright Berber robe, the only object in the room of some slight distinction.
She knew she had to offer him a drink. She felt awkward, unskilled at this, at unexpected guests. Where to sit, what to say, these were matters to consider. She didn’t mention the gin she kept in the freezer.
“You’ve lived here, what?”
“Just under four months. I’ve been a nomad,” she said. “Sublets, staying with friends, always short-term. Ever since the marriage failed.”
“The marriage.”
He said this in a modified version of the baritone rumble he’d used earlier for “the state.”
“I’ve never been married. Believe that?” he said. “Most of my friends my age. All of them really. Married, children, divorced, children. You want kids someday?”
“When is someday? Yes, I think so.”
“I think of kids. It makes me feel selfish, to be so wary of having a family. Never mind do I have a job or not. I’ll have a job soon, a good one. That’s not it. I’m in awe of raising, basically, someone so tiny and soft.”
They drank seltzer with wedges of lemon, seated diagonally at the low wooden table, the coffee table where she ate her meals. The conversation surprised her a little. It was not difficult, even in the pauses. The pauses were unembarrassed and he seemed honest in his remarks.
His cell phone rang. He dug it out of his body and spoke briefly, then sat with the thing in his hand, looking thoughtful.
“I should remember to turn it off. But I think, If I turn it off, what will I miss? Something so incredible.”
“The call that changes everything.”
“Something so incredible. The total life-altering call. That’s why I respect my cell phone.”
She wanted to look at the clock.
“That wasn’t your interview just now, was it? Canceled?”
He said it wasn’t and she sneaked a look at the clock on the wall. She wondered whether she wanted him to miss his interview. That couldn’t be what she wanted.
“Maybe you’re like me,” he said. “You have to find yourself on the verge of something happening before you can begin to prepare for it. That’s when you get serious.”
“Are we talking about fatherhood?”
“Actually, I canceled the interview myself. When you were in there,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom.
She felt an odd panic. He finished his seltzer, tipping his head back until an ice cube slid into his mouth. They sat awhile, letting the ice melt. Then he looked directly at her, fingering one of the dangled ends of his necktie.
“Tell me what you want.”
She sat there.
“Because I sense you’re not ready and I don’t want to do something too soon. But, you know, we’re here.”
She didn’t look at him.
“I’m not one of those controlling men. I don’t need to control anyone. Tell me what you want.”
“Nothing.”
“Conversation, talk, whatever. Affection,” he said. “This is not a major moment in the world. It’ll come and go. But we’re here, so.”
“I want you to leave, please.”
He shrugged and said, “Whatever.” Then he sat there.
“You said, ‘Tell me what you want.’ I want you to leave.”
He sat there. He didn’t move. He said, “I canceled the thing for a reason. I don’t think this is the reason, this particular conversation. I’m looking at you. I’m saying to myself, You know what she’s like? She’s like someone convalescing.”
“I’m willing to say it was my mistake.”
“I mean we’re here. How did this happen? There was no mistake. Let’s be friends,” he said.
“I think we have to stop now.”
“Stop what? What are we doing?”
He was trying to speak softly, to take the edge off the moment.
“She’s like someone convalescing. Even in the museum, this is what I thought. All right. Fine. But now we’re here. This whole day, no matter what we say or do, it’ll come and go.”
“I don’t want to continue this.”
“Be friends.”
“This is not right.”
“No, be friends.”
His voice carried an intimacy so false it seemed a little threatening. She didn’t know why she was still sitting here. He leaned toward her then, placing a hand lightly on her forearm.
“I don’t try to control people. This is not me.”
She drew away and stood up and he was all around her then. She tucked her head into her shoulder. He didn’t exert pressure or try to caress her breasts or hips but held her in a kind of loose containment. For a moment she seemed to disappear, tucked and still, in breathless hiding. Then she pulled away.