Once I was back at my cubicle, I Googled Grace’s name in every possible variation—first, middle, and last names; first and last names; middle and last names—with no luck. How was this possible? What kind of life was she leading that kept her completely off the internet?
I thought about what had happened to us. I thought about the way she looked on the subway—still beautiful, like I remembered, but different. No one would ever describe Grace as cute. Even though she was petite, she was too striking to be cute, with her big green eyes and massive mane of blonde hair. Her eyes had seemed hollow, her face a bit harder than when I last saw her. It had only taken one glance for me to know she wasn’t the effervescent, free spirit I’d known years ago. It made me crazy wondering what her life was like now.
Cheers erupted from the break room down the hall. I wandered over to witness the tail end of my ex-wife announcing her pregnancy to our co-workers. It wasn’t long after my divorce that I became acutely aware of everyone around me carrying on, living life. I was static, standing on the platform, watching train after train go by, wishing I knew which one to be on. Elizabeth was already at the next stop, starting a family while I was slinking back to my shitty cubicle, hoping not to be seen. I was indifferent toward her and her pregnancy news. I was numb . . . but I shot her an email anyway out of some residual obligation still lingering from our failed marriage.
Elizabeth,
Congratulations. I’m happy for you. I know how badly you wanted a child.
Best, Matt
Two minutes later, my email pinged.
Best? Really? You can’t say “love” after spending over a decade of your life with me?
I didn’t respond. I was in a hurry. I needed to get back on the subway.
2. Five Days After I Saw You
Matt
I took the damn F train, an hour-long ride to Brooklyn from Midtown and back every day, at lunch, hoping I would run into Grace again, but I never did.
Things were bad at work. I had submitted a request to go into the field three months ago but had been denied. Now I had to watch Elizabeth and Brad walk around in bliss as people congratulated them on the baby and Brad’s promotion, which came right after the announcement.
Meanwhile, I was still rejecting any forward motion in my life. I was a stagnant puddle of shit. I had volunteered to go back on location to South America with a National Geographic film crew. New York just wasn’t the same anymore. It held no magic for me. The Amazonian jungle, with all of its wonderful and exotic diseases, seemed more appealing than taking orders from my ex-wife and her smug husband. But my request hadn’t been approved or denied. It just sat in a pile of other requests on Scott’s desk.
I pondered the current state of my life while I stared at a blank wall in the office break room. Standing next to the water cooler, holding a half-empty paper cone, I tallied the insubstantial years I had spent with Elizabeth and wondered why. How had things gone so terribly wrong?
“What are you doin’, man?” Scott’s voice came from the doorway.
I turned and smiled. “Just thinking.”
“You seem a little brighter.”
“Actually, I was thinking about how I ended up thirty-six, divorced, and trapped in cubicle hell.”
He walked to the coffee pot and poured a mug full then leaned against the counter. “You were a workaholic?” he offered.
“That’s not why Elizabeth was unfaithful. She fell right into Brad’s skinny arms, and he works more than I do. Hell, Elizabeth works more than I do.”
“Why are you dwelling on the past? Look at you. You’re tall. You have hair. And it looks like”—he waved his hand around at my stomach—“you might have abs?”
“You checking me out?”
“I’d kill for a head of hair like that.”
Scott was the kind of guy who was bald by twenty-two. He’s been shaving it Mr. Clean–style since then.
“What do women call that thing?” He pointed to the back of my head.
“A bun?”
“No, there’s, like, a sexier name for it. The ladies love that shit.”
“They call it a man-bun.”
He studied me. “Jesus, you’re a free man, Matt. Why aren’t you prowling the savannahs for new game? I can’t watch you mope around like this. I thought you were over Elizabeth?”
I shut the break-room door. “I am. I was over Elizabeth a long time ago. It’s hard for me to even remember being into her. I got caught up in the fantasy of it, traveling with her, taking photos. Something was always missing, though. Maybe I did work too much. I mean, that’s all we talked about, that’s all we had in common. Now look where I am.”
“What about subway girl?”
“What about her?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were gonna try to get in touch with her?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Easier said than done.”
“You just have to put yourself out there. Get on social media.”