*
I checked my cell phone when I got back to my desk that afternoon. Julia had texted, asking me how my day was. It was sweet. I smiled to myself.
We usually ordered dinner from a regular rotation of places in the neighborhood: Italian, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Turkish. Roger always took charge, dictating what everyone was going to order so we could share, and he calculated the tab ahead of time so that we could maximize our thirty-dollar per diem. That night, around seven, he threw a balled-up piece of paper at my head to get my attention.
“Peck,” he said. “Let’s go. We’re going out for dinner.”
“Picking up? Or out out?”
“Out out. It’s deader than a doornail around here. Hurry up,” he drawled, standing. “I made a reservation. A new Indian place on Ninth.”
My stomach rumbled as we walked to the elevator. Roger had that slightly satanic ability to discern your desires with perfect accuracy. Going out for dinner, eating at a table with real tablecloths, hot and spicy food washed down with frosty beer—it was, in fact, exactly what we needed in that moment. And so, by the time we emerged into the last of the day’s sunlight, I was actually in a pretty good mood.
“Evan!” I turned and saw her squinting against the lowering sun. Julia.
“Hey.” I felt the guys staring as I walked over. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted up a plastic bag, a logo I recognized from a deli around the corner. I went there for lunch when I was too impatient for delivery. “I brought dinner. I thought we could eat together. Like the old days, you know.”
“Oh. That’s nice of you, Jules.”
“I got your favorite. Chicken cutlet with bacon and mozzarella.”
Which I’d ordered many times before. The bread was usually stale. The chicken cold and tough. That sandwich was always a last resort. Roger and the others were walking away without me. I just needed a break. The thought of it was unbearable, eating that terrible sandwich, forced to talk about my day, to fake it with Julia. I just wanted to be for one minute. With people who understood. I told her the truth, partially. “The thing is, I was going to get dinner with the guys. We’re going to this new Indian place on Ninth. You understand, right?”
She was quiet, the bag drooping from her wrist. But just because she could saunter out of her job whenever she liked didn’t mean that I could. I was annoyed. I was a little pissed, actually. She could have called ahead. Roger had made a reservation and everything. Her mopey silence was unfair. This didn’t seem like it could be my fault.
After I took the bag from her, promising I’d eat it for lunch the next day, but already planning to let it molder in the refrigerator until I was forced to throw it out, I thought of something. I’d meant to text her earlier.
“Oh,” I called as she walked away. “Guess whose byline I saw today?”
“Another round?” the waiter asked. The empty beer glasses were speckled with our greasy fingerprints from the paratha.
“Absolutely,” Roger said. I still had an inch of beer left, which Roger pointed at. “Keep up, Peck.”
We went out together a lot. Dinner, the bar after work almost every night, clubs on the weekends. In better moments, it reminded me of the hockey team. It was something even more comfortable than friendship. I drained my glass and handed it to the waiter.
“Who was that?” one of the other analysts asked me.
“Who was who?”
“That girl you were talking to back there.”
“Oh,” I said. I’d already forgotten. “Right. That was Julia. My girlfriend.”
“What was she doing here?”
Roger laughed, reaching for the last piece of paratha. “You didn’t know?” he said loudly. “Peck is completely whipped. Does whatever his girlfriend tells him to.”
I rolled my eyes. “She was just saying hi.”
“Hey, Roger,” one of the other analysts said. “So what happened to that chick from Saturday night?”
“Which one? Can’t keep track.”
“The blonde. The one from the club.”
“Her? She won’t stop calling.” He gestured at his phone. All of us kept our BlackBerrys faceup on the table, alert to the buzz of incoming e-mails through dinner. He tipped back in his chair. “She was all right. I’m worried she’s gonna be a clinger.”