Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,126

to someone’s personal page, to a link to People magazine, emerging hours later, disgusted, as if she’d gorged on the complete contents of her refrigerator.

But on the days when it went well, when she left with something to show for the time spent, Elisabeth felt proud, powerful. She was happy to be back in front of her laptop, wrestling with the best way to tell a story, listening to interviews she had recorded with female athletes and policy makers a year ago. Nothing else had ever consumed her the way writing did. When she was in the zone, she might look up thinking an hour had passed, when really she had been at it half the day.

Time now could be measured by the fullness of her breasts. She was still nursing, and often pumped at her desk while she worked. Once, a man burst right in, staring down at his phone and then up at her—Elisabeth had just finished pumping, and was about to transfer her milk into a baby bottle to bring home. She stood in the middle of the room, bra unhooked, breasts out. She held a rubber nipple in her mouth.

After the longest pause of all time, the guy said, “This is not the men’s room,” and fled.

Alone, Elisabeth laughed like she hadn’t in ages.

* * *

—

In the morning, Andrew kissed her.

The sex, it seemed, had eclipsed the unpleasant dinner.

She was relieved that there would be no need for apologies, rehashing.

They spent a glorious Sunday that made her wonder why they ever left this place—an early haircut, brunch and the park and drinks with old friends, followed by dinner, just the three of them, at a French restaurant by the hotel. The waiter gave Gil three crayons, and before they could protest that he was too young, Gil was drawing a red line on the white paper that covered the table.

“He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” Andrew said, as if confessing something.

“I think so,” she said, nodding.

She never could have predicted how moved they both would be by moments like this one. They had watched Gil grow from a blurry bean on a black-and-white screen into a human with arms and legs and ears; and then from someone who could not hold up his own head into the child who sat before them now, gnawing on a dinner roll.

“Oh!” she said. “I forgot to tell you. He got a new tooth.”

“Where? Where?” Andrew said, and she was struck by the sensation that all she needed in the world were these two. That she would do anything to keep them.

* * *

—

On Monday morning, Elisabeth headed out to meet Nomi, feeling excited to an extent that bordered on ridiculous.

The air was cold, but she decided to walk downtown.

Passing certain street corners, she saw former versions of herself. The spot where, at twenty-five, she kissed a handsome bartender on the doorstep of an abandoned building, which had since become a ramen shop and then a bank. A sign advertised luxury apartments coming soon.

In Herald Square, she breathed in the familiar sweet smell of warm chestnuts, a food she had never tasted.

She passed the jewelry store where, at twenty-one, she spent an entire afternoon in the waiting room while her boss’s watch got fixed. Elisabeth sat there, drinking a complimentary espresso, watching rich women in furs file in, this errand their only plan for the day. When the jeweler gave her the watch back, she tucked it into her coat pocket and wandered around SoHo for an hour before returning to work. A delicious feeling, like she was getting away with something.

Outside what used to be Mexican Radio, Elisabeth had a memory of a night in May, or early June, one of the first perfect summer evenings, warm, a sparkle in the air. She and her friend Rachel sat at an outdoor table, drinking margaritas at five in the afternoon. At the next table were two guys, one much cuter than the other. They flirted across the aisle, and then at some point, tables got pulled together. They went to a bar and another bar and another bar, until it was 3:00 a.m. at Pianos, and the cute one said, “Let’s go back to my place. It’s right around the corner.”

He meant all four of them. He and Rachel disappeared into the bedroom for an hour while Elisabeth talked to the funny one out on the couch. They were both coming off heartbreaks. They commiserated, exchanged numbers, though neither of