The HR woman fetched me shortly afterward. It was the same woman who had moved me into my windowless closet office. I wondered whether she felt guilty about her earlier deception; she must have known, even then, that she’d have to deliver this news eventually. There was a piece of paper that listed my severance package: several months’ salary, a one-time payment in exchange for my signing a nondisparagement agreement. It was a lot of money. She cleared her throat delicately.
“Mr. Peck, I should also remind you that your visa will run out eventually, given that you’re no longer employed by Spire. You can, of course, obtain sponsorship from your next employer. We have excellent contacts at other firms in the city and in Connecticut. Mr. Kleinman has offered to write a glowing reference. We’re confident you’ll find a good home. Would you like a—”
“No, thank you,” I said loudly. Then I stood up. “Is that everything?”
She looked startled. “Yes. That’s it. Just turn in your badge at reception.”
I had purposely avoided thinking too much about what came next. But now that the time had arrived, I knew one thing for sure. This wasn’t what I was meant to do. Five minutes later, I turned off the computer and shut the door for the last time, leaving the keys dangling in the lock for the janitor.
“So should we celebrate?” she said when I walked into McGuigan’s at midday.
“Celebrate me getting fired?”
She grinned. “I can’t think of a better reason.”
Maria got someone to cover the rest of her shift. We bought tallboys of beer in paper bags and picked up Sabrett hot dogs and ate them in Columbus Circle. I thought of Julia, the night we had spent out here, drinking wine and watching the traffic swirl. That moment felt distant and immediate all at once. The city was like that, layered with memories that existed in multiple tenses. Ever since I had started sleeping with Maria, five weeks earlier, I had been thinking about Julia more. Memories of her were creeping back in. But Julia only existed as that, I reminded myself—as a memory, as the past.
“Was it weird? Finally saying good-bye to that place?”
“A little. Mostly it’s a relief.” I shook my head. “It’s sort of surreal, you know? I can’t believe all that shit actually happened. I can’t believe I just went along with it.”
“Well,” she said, crumpling up her ketchup-stained napkin. “It’s amazing what people can rationalize. Humans are a delusional bunch.”
“You’re gonna have to tone down that sympathy when you start prosecuting the bad guys instead of serving them their drinks.”
She laughed. “You criminals are humans, too.”
The previous week, Maria had gotten a job offer at the district attorney’s office. The pay was miserly, the hours long, but it was work that actually made a difference. I envied her sense of purpose, her accomplishment, but it was easy to forget the years of hard work that had led her to this point. I put my arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss.
“Actually,” she said. “That reminds me. I’m getting together with my new coworkers tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to do dinner after all.”
“No problem. I can come over afterward?”
“Sure, if you want.”
She leaned back against the stone steps and tilted her head up toward the sun. Already it was slipping away. The bar exam was in a few months. Her start date at work was soon after. Maria had carved out a life for herself in this city long before I arrived. I knew she liked me, liked what we shared, but the need was one-directional. Maria brought me back into the real world, but I was seeing that it stemmed from compassion rather than love. She asked nothing of me; there was nothing I could give her that she didn’t already possess. And maybe I didn’t need love right then. Being with Maria was the first time I felt remotely like a grown-up. Like a person capable of surviving on my own.
She stood up. “Do you want to walk home?” Her home, not mine: she never once set foot in my apartment. “It’s a beautiful day.”
There were several guys from the hockey team also living in the city, Sebi and Paul and a few others. Most of them worked in finance. When we got together for drinks a few days after my firing, they were envious of my situation.
“You are fucking lucky, man,” Sebi said. Late on a weeknight at a bar in Murray Hill, which was so similar to McGuigan’s that if you squinted you couldn’t tell them apart. “I would quit my job in a second if I got that kind of package.”
“What are you gonna do next?” Paul asked.
“Don’t really know. I thought about joining a league, just for fun.”
“You should,” Sebi said. “Actually, one of my buddies plays up in Westchester, in a midnight league. They’re always looking for players. I’ll give you his number.”
Which was how I found myself lacing up rental skates one night the following week. The other players were men mostly older than me, fathers going gray and potbellied, but I was rusty from so many months off, and we were evenly matched. The team I was on for the scrimmage lost, but it still felt good. After the game, just as I’d cracked a Coors in the locker room, one of the guys on the team came over to me.
“Evan Peck?” He extended his hand. “I’m Frank Donovan. Call me Donny. Sebi told me about you. I heard you might be looking for work.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. Well, yes, sort of.”