## Chapter 5 There was a knee against the back of my leg when the alarm went off. I reached for the phone, stopped the noise, and waited. The knee moved. An arm came over my waist, and Maya made a small unhappy sound into my back. "Already?" I turned over carefully. She was there with her eyes closed and her hair caught under her cheek, wearing a shirt I recognized from my own drawer. One of her hands was still on me. I looked past her at the other bedside table. A glass of water, her glasses, a phone on a charger. There were earrings in the shallow dish where I had been putting loose change. I had gone to sleep beside the journal. Now it was on my side of the bed, underneath my phone, and Maya was pulling the sheet up because I had let cold air in. "What time?" "Six-fifteen." "Ugh." She opened her eyes, smiled at me, and leaned forward to kiss me. I barely moved. Her mouth was warm, and I was still trying to work out what to do with my hand when she pulled back. "Hi." "Hi." From where I was lying, the last thing she had said directly to me was to stop asking. There had been the ordinary game conversation afterward, but that was what I remembered. Now she brushed my hair away from my forehead and started to roll out of bed. I caught her around the waist and pulled her back. She laughed into my shoulder. I squeezed her harder, and she gave a little squeak and tucked herself against me, putting her cold feet between mine. I stayed like that until she said she really did have to pee. While she was in the bathroom, I sat up. There were clothes on the chair that I hadn't taken off. A little blue bag stood open on the dresser. I could hear her opening the drawer beneath the sink without having to try the wrong one first. I looked at the pillow she had been using and put my hand on the warm part. This was ridiculous. I had done it. I had actually done it, and she was in my bathroom brushing her teeth. She came back holding the waistband of a pair of jeans. I watched her step into them and then looked away because she glanced up. That made her smile. "You're being very cute this morning." "Am I?" "A little weird. But cute." I got up and kissed her again. This time I had somewhere to put my hand. I held her cheek, moved a strand of hair back behind her ear, and she let her eyes close for a second before patting my chest. "Coffee first. Then you can keep doing that." She knew the apartment. That was the part I kept getting stuck on. She took two mugs out while I was still deciding whether to follow her. She pushed the button on the coffee maker, found the little pan, and asked if I wanted an egg on toast. Her shoes were by the door, and she moved mine with her foot so she could open the cabinet beside them. I went into the bathroom. In the mirror I still looked mostly like the man I had been enjoying looking at. My stomach was softer than it had been that first Monday. The mark from my waistband stayed after I lowered it. I turned sideways, then faced forward again. There was a toothbrush beside mine with a pale green handle. I picked it up and put it back in exactly the same place. When I came out, Maya handed me coffee with the amount of milk I liked already in it. "No sugar, right?" I asked, reaching toward her mug. "Right." Good. I knew things. It was an ordinary question people asked each other in the morning. I carried the mugs to the counter while she shook pepper onto the eggs. She put the less broken one on my plate. I told her I could take the other, and she said she had already committed to hers. "Did you ever find that place?" she asked. "Which place?" "For the frame." I took a bite that was too hot. That bought me a few seconds. "Oh. No, not yet." "You sent me the link. The one by the laundromat." "Right. I meant I haven't gone." "Me either. Maybe Saturday." She ate another bite and hooked her bare foot around the leg of my stool. I wanted to ask what we were framing. There would be a way to find out without asking. A picture, probably. One of her paintings. Something I ought to have been pleased to remember. I put my hand on her knee, and she leaned against my shoulder while she chewed. My phone started vibrating on the counter. Calder. Maya moved enough for me to reach it. He wanted to know what I had told Aries about the replacement package. Nolan had left him a message over the weekend. I said engineering was working through the clearance issue. Calder asked whether that meant they had a layout they could release. I looked at Maya's plate, at the piece of toast she was using to get the last of the egg. "I'll check as soon as I get in." "Send me where we are before noon. Dates, Derek." After I hung up, Maya asked whether it was the same problem. I said yes, although I didn't know which version of my explanation she had heard. She put her plate in the sink and rubbed the back of my neck as she passed. "You coming Sunday still?" "Yeah." "Eight-thirty. I told Rosa we'd both be there." "For the soup kitchen?" "Mm-hmm. You'll like her. She'll find something for you to do." I nodded. Sunday was almost a week away. Right then Maya was standing between my knees, straightening the collar of the shirt I had pulled on, and I would have agreed to something much less reasonable. She kissed me once more, found her bag, came back for her phone, and kissed me again because she was there. I walked her to the door with my hand at the small of her back. In the hallway she turned and said, "Have a good day, okay?" as though what kind of day I had would make a difference to hers. I shut the door and stood beside it. Then I opened our messages. There were months of them. I scrolled until I found pictures I could use to work out what had happened. Maya outside Victoria's, holding a bowl under her chin because something was dripping. A beach I recognized, on a day I didn't. The two of us reflected in a dark restaurant window. The dates reached back before the evening when I remembered meeting her. Somewhere among the invitations I had started accepting was an earlier one. I had been in Victoria's kitchen while Maya was there, apparently, instead of sitting at home deciding I was too tired to go. I kept scrolling. There was a picture of me carrying a long, wrapped canvas with one arm sticking out at the wrong angle. Maya had written that I looked like I was stealing a door. I laughed. Then I read what I had said back, hoping it would be funny too. By the time I left for work, I knew which painting needed a frame and that Maya was coming over Tuesday. I had also learned that she called me handsome in the middle of conversations about parking. I read those messages more than once. On Tuesday she arrived with a paper bag held against her chest and knocked with her foot. I let her in, and she kissed the corner of my mouth while I took the bag. There were mushrooms in it, a lemon, a package of pasta, and a small pastry wrapped separately. "For after," she said when I touched it. "I was just identifying it." "You can identify the mushrooms. Wash those." She put her things down and leaned into me for a proper hug. I held her with the grocery bag still caught between us until she took it out of my hand. She smelled like outside air and the soap from my shower. I had spent the day being asked for things I didn't have. For a minute I could just stand there with her arms around me. We decided to cook because she had bought food, which seemed like a good enough reason. I found a recipe and put my phone against a mug. It wanted everything prepared before anything went into the pan. I read that after the mushrooms were already in it. Maya was cutting the lemon with a knife too large for the job. When I asked why, she said it was the sharp one, and then she held up the smaller knife so I could see where I had bent the tip doing something I couldn't remember. "It's still a knife," I said. "It's a tiny crowbar." I took over stirring. The mushrooms were supposed to brown, but they produced water instead. I turned the heat up. Maya watched me do it and quietly moved the wooden spoon farther from the burner. A message from work covered the recipe. I opened it with the hand that wasn't holding the pan. "Hey," she said. "Can we have dinner first?" "I'm looking at the recipe." She looked at the screen. I closed the message. "Sorry. Yeah." She asked me to leave the phone on the far counter, where I could still see the cooking instructions. I said I would. We had already lost whatever stage the mushrooms were meant to be at, so there wasn't much point pretending the recipe was in charge. Maya said to put the garlic in. I did. Then we both said, "Oh," and she took the pan off the heat while I opened the window. For the next few minutes we tried to pick the darkest bits out with forks. Maya kept finding another one and holding it up for my inspection. I told her some people paid extra for smoke. She said those people should come over because we had plenty. I was laughing hard enough that I dropped a mushroom between the stove and the counter. She bent to look into the gap, then straightened and told me it lived there now. The pasta was good once we put enough cheese on it. We ate at the counter with the window open, and Maya told me about her niece's latest drawing of the bedroom. The bed now had a ladder, although it was an ordinary bed. I asked where the ladder went. She showed me. It went to another bed on the ceiling. "Your brother's going to have to take the roof off." "Don't give her ideas." We spent a while working out how you would get into the ceiling bed and whether you had to be strapped down. Maya drew a little person falling out of it on the back of the receipt. I added a second person underneath holding the pasta pot. She laughed with her hand over her mouth because she was still eating, then put the fork down and leaned against me until she could finish. I liked making her laugh. I liked that I could do it without thinking up the thing in advance and waiting for somewhere to put it. When we divided the pastry, she gave me the piece with most of the filling. I noticed. I offered it back, and she took a bite directly from my hand instead. "This is better than the pier one," she said. "Yeah." "We should've known when he had to microwave it." I smiled at the pastry. I had seen a pier in one of the photos. "You ate yours anyway," she said. "Sounds like me." She looked over. "You ate half of mine too. You kept saying the middle might be better." I laughed, a little late. Then I brushed a crumb off her lip with my thumb and kissed her. She stayed close, and we forgot about the plates for a while. Later I put them in the sink and ran water into the pan. I felt pleased with myself for remembering to do that before she asked. On the couch she put her feet under my thigh and scrolled through photographs of her nephew's birthday while I held the phone for her. She told me who people were. I asked enough questions to keep her talking, and some of them I actually wanted answered. One sister had cut her own hair and was blaming the scissors. An uncle had brought a cake nobody could get out of its container. There was a long argument in the background of a video about where the knife was. Maya watched it twice. Her whole family seemed to spend a lot of time in rooms together looking for things. After a while she shifted down and put her head on my lap. I moved my fingers through her hair. She reached up to guide my hand to the back of her head, and I kept doing that. The television was on, but neither of us had chosen anything. I sat there watching the little preview start over and thinking I could do this most nights. Come home, make something, have somebody fall asleep on me. There had been whole weekends when the only person who knew whether I was home was the guy bringing dinner. My phone lit up on the far counter. I could see the pale square reflected in the window. I waited, then reached for it when Maya got up to brush her teeth. Engineering still needed the confirmed site drawing. Nolan had copied Calder again. Underneath that was the card app reminding me about a payment. I opened the balance. The number was large enough that I checked which account I was looking at. Several things I remembered buying. Several I didn't. The amount due was smaller than the balance, which helped until I scrolled down and saw what would remain afterward. Maya came back, took my hand, and pulled me toward the bedroom. I left the phone charging in the kitchen. On the way past the door I moved the gym bag again. It had been there long enough that I was starting to think of it as something the door needed to clear. By Wednesday morning, Calder wanted us in the conference room. I brought the printout of the latest layout and the list I had sent him Monday. Bradley was already sitting down. There were emails on the table in front of him, printed in color, which made the parts I hadn't answered especially easy to locate. "Where are we?" Calder asked. I explained the pipe. It hadn't been on the original site information. We had dealt with the valve position, engineering had checked that change, and now there was another obstruction. I said this carefully because those were separate things and somebody ought to acknowledge that we kept getting new information from the customer. "When did you get the photographs?" Bradley asked. I knew he had the date in front of him. "A couple of weeks ago." "And when did you confirm which drawing they were building to?" "I'm waiting for Nolan to confirm it." "Did you speak to him yesterday?" I had sent an email. I said that. Calder turned one of the pages around and slid it toward me. Nolan had written to him directly. There were eight weeks until the product launch. The replacement heat-exchanger package had to leave us in roughly four to give them time for delivery, installation, and getting the line running. He had put dates beside each part. There wasn't a blank part labeled waiting for Derek to get a chance. I said four weeks was going to be difficult. Bradley moved his chair closer to the table. "It was six when he first asked." "We couldn't release it with the clearance unresolved." "That's why he asked." Calder asked whether I had read the damages clause. I had read enough to know Aries could make a claim if we were late. Now he wanted me to point to an agreed extension of our delivery date. I went through the pages even though I knew I didn't have one. "We're reviewing the contract separately," he said. "Right now I need to know how we get this equipment out." He wanted a recovery schedule that afternoon and a customer update every day. I was to confirm the drawing with Nolan, then get dates from engineering, production, and purchasing. I wrote all of that down. Most of it sounded obvious when he said it. That made sitting there worse. "This isn't how you used to handle these," Calder said. I kept looking at the notebook. Bradley waited until Calder left before asking what was going on. I said there had been a lot happening. He said he could see that, but he needed an answer he could do something with. "I'm handling it." He rubbed his forehead. "Then start with the call. I'll sit in." Nolan answered on the second ring. When I began explaining what engineering needed, he told me he had already sent it. I said we needed confirmation of the revision number, and he read it off while Bradley pointed to the same number at the bottom of the picture on my screen. I had been looking at the attachment on my phone when it came in. I hadn't enlarged it. I wrote the number on the pad as though obtaining it had required a call. I took the confirmed drawing to engineering and stayed while someone compared it with ours. Each answer gave me another person to find. By lunchtime I had walked past my office six times without sitting in it. I ate at my desk while calling machine shops. One could look at it next Thursday. A man I had apparently known for years answered with "Derek, how's it going?" and became less pleased as I described what I needed. I asked if they could run it Saturday. "With who?" I said we could talk about overtime. He said he had two people who could do that job, one was already covering another rush order, and the other had his kids that weekend. He wasn't keeping a spare crew in a cupboard. I laughed because I thought that was what he expected. He didn't laugh with me. "Can you at least ask?" I said. "I can ask. I'm telling you what he's going to say." When we hung up, I looked at the name on my pad. I had underlined Saturday twice. Until then it had been a space on a schedule. Now I had to call somebody back and find out whether a man whose name I didn't know had agreed to give up seeing his children. I went to the next number. There wasn't much else to do with the information. On Thursday one shop offered a slot if we could get the released drawings to them by ten Friday. Calder approved the extra cost after making me show him the other answers. Engineering asked me to stop promising their work would be ready before I checked with them. I said I hadn't promised. I had told the shop that was what we were aiming for. The engineer stared at me until I said I would call and clarify. Maya texted that afternoon to ask how it was going. I wrote, Absolute shitshow. She asked whether I had eaten. I said yes, though I was still trying to get to the sandwich in the break-room refrigerator. She sent a picture of the drawing we'd made on the receipt. She had drawn a lid onto the photo, just above the pot under the falling person. I smiled at my phone long enough for someone waiting in my doorway to clear his throat. By Friday the drawing was out, the shop had confirmed the slot, and Nolan had dates someone besides me had agreed to. I had helped get it that far. Mostly I wanted everyone to stop asking for the next thing, but production was already asking when the parts would be back, and the shop wanted an answer about material. I stayed late and called Maya from the garage, twenty minutes after I should have picked her up. She answered because I was late. Usually she let a call become a text. She said she'd tell Victoria and asked how much longer. She had dressed for the promotion dinner. When she got into the car, I was on the phone again, trying to explain to someone that Calder had approved the price and that the purchase order was coming. I held a finger up to Maya while she put on her seat belt. She waited with her bag on her lap. After I hung up, she leaned over to kiss me. I turned far enough for her to reach my cheek and pulled out because another car was waiting. "You look nice," I said at the next light. "Thank you." I told her about the week. I got through the pipe, the drawings, the rush cost, and the man who had apparently decided it was my fault his machinist had children. That wasn't quite how I said it, but I kept trying versions of the story until somebody in it sounded unreasonable besides me. "He probably just doesn't want to ask him," Maya said. "Then say that. Don't make it a whole thing." "You needed an answer. He gave you one." "I needed somebody to help me." She rested her hand on my leg. "It sounds horrible. I'm glad you found another place." I kept talking for another few blocks. She listened. When we reached the restaurant, I realized I hadn't asked about her day, but we were already looking for parking. There would be time inside. Victoria and Leah were at the table with drinks. Victoria stood to hug us. I apologized and started to explain, but she said, "You're here," and moved her water glass so I could sit down. Leah asked Maya whether she'd finished the painting. Maya said almost, then immediately admitted she had started changing a corner she should have left alone. She showed Leah two pictures on her phone. Leah preferred the first one. "That's the one I painted over," Maya said. Leah took another look. Maya waited, then pulled the phone back while I opened the menu. I knew which painting now. I could have joined in. Instead I tried to work out how expensive this place was going to become if everybody ordered another drink. We toasted Victoria. Her new role meant more people reporting to her, including someone who had been at Meridian much longer. I asked how he was taking it. She said fine so far. I told her to enjoy that while it lasted. "Thanks," she said, and laughed in a way that gave me another chance. "No, seriously. Congratulations. You deserve it." She smiled properly then. I asked what she was looking forward to, and for a few minutes dinner went the way it was supposed to. Victoria talked about having enough say to fix a handoff that had annoyed her for two years. "I've been saying I know how to fix it," she said. "Now they all remember me saying that." Leah laughed and asked what she was going to try first. Maya stole a piece of bread from my side plate and tore it in half. I put my hand on the back of her chair. When the server came over, Maya remembered her from somewhere. It took them a moment to work out that it was the coffee shop near Maya's apartment, where she'd worked before this. Maya asked about her classes. The server said she had one semester left and then remembered she was holding our orders and apologized. Maya said she was the one keeping her. It was an easy little conversation. I watched the server walk away and wondered how Maya remembered things like that. Leah asked how long we'd been coming here. I looked at Maya. "Only once before," she said. "The night your car wouldn't let you lock it." I laughed because she was smiling. "The other key was inside," she told Leah. "He kept walking away and turning around to check. We were there forever." "It's very concerned about me," I said. Maya touched my arm. "We had to call your brother." I took a drink. I didn't know which brother. She waited a second, then carried on telling Leah what he had said. I was listening hard enough to learn the story when my phone vibrated against my leg. I looked under the table. The shop had sent a question. I could answer this one. It would take less time to answer than to spend dinner thinking about it. I typed with the phone beside my knee while Victoria said something about a woman at work. Maya's fingers rested on my wrist. "Can you put that away?" "One second." "Derek." I finished the sentence. There was no useful way to send half an answer. When I looked up, Leah was asking Victoria to go back to the beginning of the story. Maya had taken her hand away. I put the phone in my pocket and leaned toward her. "It was work." "I know." "They're doing us a favor. I can't just ignore them." "Then tell us you need a minute and go answer. Don't sit here pretending you're listening." She said it quietly. I still checked the other two faces. "Okay. Sorry." "We talked about this." "Tuesday. I know." "Before Tuesday." I nodded as if I remembered. She looked at me for another moment, then turned toward Victoria. The food arrived, which gave everybody something to do. I asked Maya whether she wanted to try mine. She said yes, took the fork I offered, and told me it was good. I couldn't tell whether that meant we were all right. For the rest of the meal I kept making sure she had water. When the bill came, I reached for it. Leah said we could split Victoria's part between us. I said I'd get it. Maya glanced at me. I had already put my card on the little tray. The server came back and bent beside my chair. She spoke quietly enough that I had to lean toward her, which made everybody else stop talking so I could hear. The card hadn't gone through. She asked whether I had another one. "That's strange. Try it again?" "I did. I'm sorry." I looked at the card as she handed it back. Same name. Same piece of plastic I had been using all week. Maya reached for her bag. "I've got ours." "No, it's fine." Leah was already giving the server a card for her part and Victoria's. I opened the banking app below the table. The available credit was less than the bill. I could move money, but the rent payment was waiting in the checking account, and there was no version of doing that arithmetic quickly enough to keep this from happening. "I can transfer it to you," I told Maya. "Later." Victoria started talking about dessert somewhere else. Leah said she had to be up early. They were doing a good job. I could hear all the effort in it. I put my card into the wrong slot in my wallet and had to take it out again. Outside, Maya said goodbye to the others, then waited while I found the parking ticket. In the car I explained that I had used the wrong card. She said okay. I explained the difference between having money and having it in the account you expected. "You could've let us split it," she said. "I wanted to do something nice for Victoria." "I know." I drove her home. She kissed me before she got out, but she didn't sit there for the extra minute I had begun expecting. At the building door she turned and lifted her hand. I stayed until she was inside, then checked the message from the shop. They had written, Thanks, that's all we needed. On Saturday Maya brought coffee and bagels. She put my cup in front of me without asking which was mine, then took two big bags of oranges out of another bag and said those were for tomorrow. I had been awake for an hour without getting dressed. The laptop was open on the counter. Nobody needed an answer from me yet, but I had been checking in case they did. "How much do I owe you?" I asked. "For a coffee? Don't worry about it." That irritated me after the night before. Then she kissed my forehead and asked if I had a bowl for the oranges, and I couldn't find a sensible way to remain irritated. I got one down. It wasn't big enough. We left most of them in the bag. She had brought the bagel I liked, with the cheese baked onto it. I offered to make her another coffee once hers was gone. She said she'd like that. I put milk in and reached for the sugar. "No sugar." "Right. Sorry." "You asked me that Monday." "Automatic." She looked at the sugar bowl, then at my cup. I didn't put sugar in mine either. I turned back to the coffee maker before she could ask. When she opened the refrigerator to put away the cream cheese, she stood looking into it for a moment. "Are you saving these for something?" I took the containers out. One had liquid around the rice. Another had something white where the chicken met the glass. When I bent to open a trash bag, my waistband pressed into my stomach. I had been wearing these jeans because the other pair needed washing, or because I liked them better, something like that. I straightened and pulled the shirt down. I scraped the food into the bag and ran hot water into the containers. The smell made me gag. Maya opened the window and tied the bag when I was finished. She left it by the door. We were supposed to go to the frame shop. I had forgotten that until she asked what time it closed. I said I needed to watch the email for a little while. She sat beside me on the couch with her legs tucked up and leaned against my arm. I put the laptop on my knees. "How long is a little while?" "I don't know. They might need something." "Could you call and ask?" "They're working. I don't want to keep interrupting." She sat up. I could hear what that answer sounded like as soon as I said it. I opened the thread to give myself somewhere to look. "Are we doing anything today?" she asked. "We're here." "Yeah." I closed the laptop halfway. "We can go." "You sound thrilled." "Maya, it's a frame. Can we do it another day?" She rubbed a finger along the seam of the cushion. I wanted her to say that was fine so I could finish whatever I was doing. There wasn't actually anything to finish. I was waiting for someone to put something in front of me. I put the laptop on the table and reached for her hand. She let me hold it, but her fingers stayed loose. "I don't even know if I like the painting anymore," she said. "I like it." "You haven't seen what I did to it." "The corner?" She nodded. "I keep changing it. Then I hate it and try to get it back to how it was. I thought if I got it framed, I'd have to leave it alone." "You could put it somewhere you don't have to look at it." "I did. Then I got it out again." She gave a little laugh and looked at the window. I couldn't tell whether I was supposed to laugh too. She pulled her hand out of mine and tucked it under her leg. "I was looking forward to today." "We can still go." "You keep looking at the laptop." I looked at her instead. The shop might call while we were out. I could answer in the car. We could do the whole thing in an hour if she already knew what she wanted, but then she would want to look at different frames and ask what I thought, and I would have to have an answer. I said next Saturday would be easier. She nodded without looking at me. I couldn't tell if she'd agreed. She stayed for another half hour. We talked about Sunday, where to park and what to wear. I said I would pick her up at eight. At the door she asked whether I still wanted to come. I said of course. She had already told them there would be two of us. After she left, I carried the trash downstairs. Back upstairs I put the empty containers into the dishwasher. There was room for all of them once I moved the mugs. Sunday morning I was early. I had the oranges in the car and stopped for Maya with enough time that she came down still putting on an earring. She smiled when she saw me. I got out to open the passenger door, and she kissed me before sitting down. "Thank you for getting the bags," she said. I wanted credit for being early too, but she looked happier than she had yesterday, and I let that be enough. She told me a little about Rosa on the drive. I asked a question and listened to the whole answer. Then another. It wasn't difficult when I remembered to do it. By the time we parked, I thought the day might be good for us. At the soup kitchen, Maya led me through a room full of folding tables. Rosa was finding somebody a larger pair of gloves. She hugged Maya with one arm, then shook my hand. "We've heard about you." I smiled. "Hopefully good things." "We'll see. Can you get those washed?" She pointed us toward a sink. I washed the oranges while Maya helped a woman opening bags of rolls. Every few minutes she looked over at me and smiled. I was glad I had come. Nobody had asked me to explain anything yet. Rosa put me near the bread and bowls, with Maya beside the stew pot, and showed me what went on each tray. People were already coming in. A man carrying a folded newspaper greeted Maya by name and asked about her painting. Somebody wanted the restroom key. I kept turning toward questions that weren't for me. Maya showed me where the cups went and an easier way to arrange each tray. After a few people I had it. Bowl, roll, tray along to her. I liked keeping up. When a gap opened, I stacked more bowls. A woman came back for a spoon. I pointed to the other table, but she said there weren't any. By the time I brought a box from the kitchen, somebody was serving where I'd been standing. I had to wait to get back in. I was doing what they had asked and somehow still in the way. By ten-thirty it was hot. My lower back ached from leaning over the table. I had washed my hands enough times that the skin was getting tight. Across the room, a man had fallen asleep in his chair with a cup of coffee in front of him. Two people were arguing quietly about a phone charger. I checked the clock and then checked my own phone because I was already thinking about time. There was nothing urgent. A delivery estimate, an automated message, something I could have read at home. Maya saw me put the phone back into my pocket. She didn't say anything. I thought that was reasonable of her. An older man came through with a canvas bag over his shoulder. He put a paperback into it before taking the tray. Maya said, "Morning, Ray," and asked if he'd finished it. He said the ending had better be worth it because the middle was taking forever. She laughed, filled his bowl, and handed him a spoon. He looked at the roll I had put beside his bowl and stepped back toward me. "Could you put a bit of broth on that?" I pointed to his bowl. "There's plenty in there." "On the bread. Just to soften it." There were people waiting behind him. I could see another tray coming from the stack. I said it would get soft if he dipped it in the bowl. "It's easier if it's already in pieces." He held the tray between us. I looked toward the kitchen for a knife, though I didn't actually move to get one. Maya leaned closer to me. "He has trouble chewing. Break it up and give it a little broth. I'll do the next trays." She said it quietly. She was already reaching for another bowl. I could have done it. The pot was there, and the roll was in front of me. "We're going to hold everybody up," I said. "I'll keep them moving. It's okay." That made it worse somehow. She was being patient with me in the same voice she had used to explain where the cups went. I could feel Ray waiting. I picked up his roll and put it in the bowl whole. "There. You can let it soak." Maya stopped reaching for the next tray. "I'll do it," she said. "I'm doing it." Ray pulled the tray a little closer to himself. "Don't worry about it." "He only asked for a little help," Maya said to me, still quietly. I looked past her at the line. "I know what he asked. We can't make a different meal for every person." "It's the same food." I laughed through my nose. It came out uglier than I had meant it to. I was tired and warm and had given up my Sunday to be here, and now the person I had come with was making me look like an asshole over a bread roll. "Can we have this conversation somewhere else?" I asked. Maya filled a clean bowl with stew. She broke up another roll, spooned broth over it, and handed the bowl to Ray. It took a few seconds. He thanked her and went to sit down. I held the first bowl because I didn't know where she wanted it. "Put that in the kitchen," she said. "I'll be there in a minute." I carried it back. Rosa was opening another bag of vegetables. She pointed to a clear place beside the sink and asked if I could move the empty boxes away from the door. I stacked them while Maya spoke to someone at the serving table. There were useful things I could do back here. I could stay out of everybody's way, get through the morning, and then we could discuss it in the car. Maya came through the doorway and stood beside me. "What was that?" "I was trying to keep the line moving." "I told you I had the line." "Okay. I misunderstood." She looked at me. I folded another box, pushing down hard on the taped seam. "You could just say you're sorry to him," she said. "Then help Rosa back here for a while." I could see part of the room through the doorway. Ray was sitting with two other men. He had put the book on the table. I didn't want to walk over there with Maya watching me do it. I didn't want to apologize on command for something that had lasted less than a minute. "For what? I didn't refuse to feed him." She moved back a little. I heard someone call her name from the other room. She raised her hand to show she had heard, then looked at me again. "Go wait in the car." "Seriously?" "Yes." I dropped the flattened box onto the stack. For a second I thought Rosa might say something, but she kept working. I took off the apron they had given me and asked where to put it. Maya pointed to a hook. On my way through the room I had to turn sideways to get past a chair. Ray moved his bag out of the way. I said thanks without looking at him and kept going. I sat in the car with the air-conditioning on. After a while I turned the engine off because it seemed ridiculous to burn gas for this. Then I got hot and started it again. I opened my messages and reread the last one from Maya, the one reminding me to bring the oranges. There was a heart at the end. I thought about sending her something so she could read it before she came out. Every version began with an explanation, and I couldn't find one that didn't sound like I was continuing the argument. I watched people come and go. Some stayed outside talking. A woman sat on the low wall to change her shoes. I had expected Maya to come out after a few minutes. Instead she stayed until the work was finished. I knew she would. I still kept looking at the door. When she finally came out, she was carrying her bag and the empty orange bags folded together. She opened the passenger door and sat down without fastening her seat belt. "Can we talk before you drive?" "Yeah." I turned the air down so we could hear each other. She had a damp patch on the front of her shirt where she'd leaned against the sink. I reached toward it and said she'd got wet. She looked down, then moved my hand away. "I'm sorry," I said. "I should've helped him." "Yes." I waited for her to give me the next part. She put the folded bags inside her own bag and zipped it. "I didn't know what to do when you went out," she said. "I wanted to come after you. Then I was angry that I was thinking about you while Ray was still sitting there with his lunch." "I was frustrated. With everything." "I know. You keep saying that." She pulled the zipper on her bag open again, searched inside it, and closed it without taking anything out. "I'm saying this badly. I know work is awful right now. I'm not asking you to be happy all the time." I put my hands on the steering wheel, then took them off because we weren't going anywhere. I said she could have pulled me aside sooner. "I did." "I mean before it got to that." She looked at me until I looked away. We sat for a while with the fan blowing at our knees. "For a few weeks now, I've been typing things to you and then deleting them," she said. "A picture, something funny my sister said. I'd look at the last thing I'd sent that you hadn't answered and think, leave him alone. He's busy." "You can send me things." "I know I can. That's what I mean. I felt stupid for even thinking about it. Then we'd see each other and have a nice night, and I'd decide I'd made the whole thing up." I thought about the messages I had scrolled through Monday morning. I had been looking for the pictures of us. "You could've told me." "We talked about it. You said to call if it was important." I almost said that again. She hated calling. I knew that much about her. She looked down at her bag. "I don't think I can keep doing this." My stomach moved before I understood which thing she meant. "Coming here?" She turned toward me. "Us, Derek." I stared at her. The building door opened behind her shoulder, and for a second I was certain somebody would come over and interrupt, make us stop having this conversation until we were somewhere better for it. "Because of today?" "I don't know when I was supposed to decide it was enough," she said. "I keep waiting until I've got a reason you won't argue with." "I'm not arguing." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. I reached for her wrist. She lowered her hands into her lap before I got there. "Tuesday was good," I said. "I know." "We were fine. We had a good time." Her face changed then. That was worse than if she had disagreed. She knew which evening I meant. She had laughed at the drawing too. She had fallen asleep with her head on my lap. I started telling her that I would put the phone away, that I could leave it at home next time, and halfway through I realized I was talking as though we were choosing another restaurant. "I love you," I said. It seemed like something I should have said sooner. Once it was out, I wanted her to look at me. She did. "Derek." She pressed her lips together and looked toward the building. "Don't. I can't do this if you..." "I want you to stay. I like being with you. I like coming home and knowing you're going to be there. You make all of this feel less..." I gestured toward the dashboard. I didn't know why. The apartment, work, the whole week. She had been the part I could get through the rest to reach. "What about when I need something?" she asked. "I can do that." "I asked you yesterday. I asked you in there." I thought about the frame shop. I wanted to say I would take the painting myself, get it done without her having to ask again. We could do it this afternoon if somewhere was open. That was a real thing I could offer. She was already shaking her head before I said it. "I miss you," she said. "Which is a really weird thing to say while you're sitting here. But I do." I looked down at my hands. There was dried orange pulp beside a fingernail. The journal was in my bag on the back seat. I could tell her about it. I tried to imagine taking it out, showing her the page, explaining that she remembered months I had never had. I would have to tell her about Friday at Victoria's too, about asking again after she had already answered. Then ask her to believe that the better version of me existed somewhere because I had written instructions for him. "I can be better," I said. She was quiet for a long time. "I hope you are. I can't keep doing this while I wait." She asked me to drive her home. I did. I kept thinking of something to say and then missing the point where it could have fitted. At a red light I asked if she was sure. She said yes, and I watched the light until it changed. Outside her building she told me she'd arrange another time to get the things at my apartment. She would text. I said I could bring them now. She said another time. Then she got out, closed the door gently, and went inside with the bag of empty bags. I drove toward my parents' house because I didn't want to go back to the apartment. I knew the way without having to put it into the car. At the last turn I almost called first, then decided I was close enough that there wasn't much point. I parked behind my father's car and sat with my hand on the door handle. I wanted to be inside already. My father answered wearing the glasses he used for small print. He looked past me at the car, then back at me. "Hey." "Hey. Mom here?" "She's out with your brother. Come in." He moved aside and waited while I took my shoes off. The television was on in the living room. There was a half-finished cup of coffee beside his chair and a stack of mail on the table. I asked if I was interrupting anything. He said no, put his glasses on top of the mail, and asked if I wanted water. I followed him into the kitchen. Through the open garage door I could see a new shelf against the wall, with the heavy bins up off the floor. I recognized the angle from the photograph my mother had sent. "You got that done," I said. He looked toward the garage. "Yeah." "I could've helped you with that." He filled the glass and gave it to me. "You said you would." I took a drink. "When?" "A few Sundays. Then I did it." He said it without putting much into it. I went to look at the shelf because that seemed easier than standing there. It was bolted to the wall. The bins were labeled in my mother's handwriting. There had been enough work in it that he would have spent a while doing it alone. "You should've called," I said. "We did." I ran a hand along the edge of the shelf. There was dust on it already. Back in the kitchen he asked how work was going. I said badly. He asked if I still had the job, and I said yes. He nodded. I had expected him to make a joke about paying for the car. He sat down at the table instead and waited. "Maya and I broke up." "I'm sorry." I nodded. I wanted to tell him what had happened in a way that would make him understand why I was here. I began with how busy work had been. I told him there was an impossible deadline and that everybody expected me to keep everything going anyway. He listened with his hands around his coffee cup. "She didn't think I was paying attention," I said. He looked down into the cup. "Were you?" "I've been trying." He nodded again. I wished he would disagree with her or with me, something I could answer. I asked where Mom and my brother had gone. He said they were shopping and would eat out afterward. I said I had thought we might have dinner. It was Sunday. I had told her next week. "You didn't say you were coming today," he said. "I told her last week." "You say next week a lot." I put the glass down too hard. Some water went onto the table. He got up for a cloth before I thought to do it. "I was here for her birthday," I said. "You came by, yeah." I could remember the cake, my brothers in the kitchen, the containers lined up for us to take home. My mother beside me at the counter while I tried to explain something about work. I asked if we hadn't had dinner together. "You had somewhere to be. We saved you some." I watched him wipe the water up. In my phone there would be another version of the evening. Probably a message from me saying I was sorry, then a picture of wherever I had gone instead. I didn't want to look. I remembered staying. I had stayed. That should have counted for something, at least in this kitchen. My father sat back down. "Your mom kept asking me if she'd upset you," he said. "I told her you were busy." "She hasn't upset me." "I know." He looked tired. I couldn't tell how much of that had to do with me. I sat waiting for him to ask me another question. Eventually he offered to heat something up. I said I wasn't hungry. He told me I could stay until my mother came home. I looked at the time. There were several hours left in the day, and I didn't know what to do with any of them. I said I should probably get home and sort some things out for work. He walked me to the door. Before I left, he put his hand on my shoulder and left it there for a moment. "I'm glad you came by," he said. I nodded. In the car I sat with the water glass he had told me to take because I hadn't finished it. I couldn't put it in the cup holder properly. I moved a charging cable out of the way and tried again. At home the apartment smelled faintly of the coffee Maya had brought Saturday. The oranges were gone, and the empty bowl was still on the counter. I put my father's glass in the sink beside one of her mugs. There were no dirty containers waiting in the refrigerator. I had taken care of those. I walked through the rooms. Her shirt was on the chair in the bedroom. In the bathroom the green toothbrush stood beside mine. I picked up the shirt, folded it badly, and put it back down. She had said she'd text about her things. I didn't know whether I was supposed to put them in a bag or whether that would look like I wanted them gone. I took the journal out of my bag and carried it to the kitchen. I opened it beside the laptop. There was a message from Calder about Monday. I read the first line without opening it. He wanted us together at eight. The shop, production, the customer update. I could already see the pad on the conference-room table. I took out the folded letter. I read the line about tearing out a page, then the line before it about Sunday night. It was Sunday. I had never tried undoing anything. I didn't know whether it would happen as soon as the paper came loose or whether I would have to go to sleep. I found the social page first. Ask about what they're telling me and let them finish. I remembered writing that. I remembered thinking it was the sensible part, the part that made the whole thing likely to work. I read the rest with my thumb against the edge of the paper. On the counter was the receipt with the bed on the ceiling. Maya's little person, my pot, the lid she had added in the picture but not on this piece of paper. I picked it up. There was a grease mark through one corner. On Tuesday she had laughed so hard she had needed to put her fork down. This morning she had come downstairs fastening her earring and had kissed me because I had remembered the bags. I put the receipt down and took my hand off the page. I could leave this one. Take out the work page, get rid of the deadlines, have time to be the person she kept asking for. But I didn't know what would happen to the rest if I did that. Would we still have met? Would there still be an apartment for her things? I turned back through the journal as though the earlier pages might tell me how they fitted together. They were my handwriting. I knew why I had written every one. I had felt so close after each of them. The work page made me think of Calder waiting for me to answer. The movement page made me look down at the waistband I had been adjusting all day. My father had stopped waiting for me to help him put up a shelf. Maya had needed a few seconds and a ladle, and I had argued until she sent me outside. I put the social page between my fingers again. I wanted another morning. I wanted to get back into bed and have her turn toward me without checking what sort of mood I was in. I kept thinking about her feet against mine, as though leaving the page in the book would bring her back tonight. Her next message would be about getting her things. I looked toward the bedroom and imagined her going through the drawer, asking whether this was everything. I would find something I'd missed and try to use it to keep her there another minute. Even if I woke up tomorrow with less work and she still remembered me, I would have to get through that. I could feel myself reaching for the phone already, wanting to send something before she did. I put my hand flat on the journal to hold it still. I didn't want to be here when she came for the shirt. I tore it close to the binding. It went crooked halfway down, and I had to stop and move my hand. Nothing happened that I could see. I laid the page on the counter, opened the journal to the movement entry, and tore that one out too. Then the work page. The paper was heavier than I expected, and I had to hold the book flat to get the last bit loose. The hike was still at the front. I left it there. There were plenty of blank pages after it. I closed the journal before I could start thinking about what to put on them. I sat for a while with the three pages in front of me. The apartment stayed where it was. A car moved through the intersection below. My phone lit up beside the laptop, and I turned it over without reading the screen. Before bed I rinsed my father's glass and left it on the drying mat. I put the torn pages together on the counter. The receipt with our drawing was underneath them. I moved it beside her mug so it wouldn't get thrown away. Then I took the journal back to the bedroom. Her phone charger was still plugged in on the other side. I left it there. I got into bed, checked that the alarm was set, and switched off the light.