I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t respond right away. In fact, I didn’t respond until that night, after I’d casually mentioned your visit to Darren.
“You’re still in touch with that guy?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since my Columbia reunion. He e-mailed me out of the blue.”
Darren unbuttoned his collar. “Would you do me a favor?” he asked.
I steeled myself. Was he going to ask me not to see you? “What is it?” I asked back.
“Will you bring Violet with you?”
I sat for a moment, a bit stunned. “You don’t trust me?” I asked.
Darren took a deep breath. “I trust you,” he said. “But I don’t trust him. I don’t know why he wants to see you. And I think you should bring Violet.”
I nodded. I knew that saying no would send Darren a message I didn’t want to send. “Of course,” I said. “I’ll bring Violet. But I think he’s just an old friend who wants to catch up.”
I wrote you back that night:
Great to hear from you. How about 3 p.m. tomorrow in Brooklyn Heights? There’s a Starbucks on Montague.
I didn’t mention Violet.
You shot back: Sounds good.
We had a plan.
? ? ?
THE NEXT DAY I dressed Violet up in baby jeans, baby Uggs, and a gray sweater with a pink appliqué heart. I put a pink bow in her hair. I was actually wearing something similar, though my sweater was brown without an appliqué, and I didn’t have a bow.
Darren was at the gym when I zipped us both into our winter coats and we left.
I peered through the Starbucks’s glass door, and saw you sitting at a table, your head down, reading something on your BlackBerry. Darren and I had just made the switch to iPhones, but it made sense somehow, you still on a BlackBerry. I parked the stroller outside, adjusted Violet on my hip, and opened the door. You looked up.
“Hi, Lucy,” you said. “And hi . . .”
“Violet,” I supplied. “Violet, this is Mommy’s friend Gabe. Gabe, this is my daughter.”
“Hihi,” Violet said. It was one of her words, always doubled, though Darren and I couldn’t figure out why.
“She looks just like you,” you said, standing up. “Wow.”
What were you thinking just then? I’ve always wondered. Did the fact that she looked like me and not Darren make Violet more . . . exciting? Tolerable? Lovable?
Violet must’ve sensed something she liked, because she held out her arms, and you took her. “Hihi,” she said, and patted your cheeks.
“Hihi,” you said back to her.
Then you used your free arm to hug me. “It’s been so long; I’m glad you came.”
I took Violet back, and we sat down across from each other. I put some board books and a few blocks on the table, and Violet started playing with them.
“I saw you were engaged,” I said, “on Facebook.”
I didn’t know how much time we had, and I wanted to know what was going on. Because Darren was right, there was no obvious motive for this meeting, after so long.
You laughed. “Getting right to it.”
I shrugged and retrieved the book Violet had knocked to the floor.
“You want to know what happened,” you said.
“Only if you want to tell me,” I answered.
So you told me about Alina and the job she was offered in D.C. and how you both realized that your careers were more important than your relationship. She wanted to go to D.C., you wanted to stay abroad, and neither one of you was willing to compromise to stay together. I couldn’t help thinking about us, about how you left me for the same reason.
“It was a case of two very nice people not meant for each other,” you said.
I wondered if you said that about me.
“I’m sorry,” I answered.
“Sorr-eee,” Violet echoed, looking up. Another of her words.
You laughed. “Did you clone yourself?” you asked. “Make a Xerox? She’s fantastic.”
“Are you fantastic?” I asked Violet.
She smiled and clapped.
Then I laughed too.
“You’re happy,” you said to me. “With Darren, with Violet, you’re happy.”
“I am,” I said. And it was true.
“I’m glad one of us is.” It wasn’t sarcastic or malicious, the way you said it. Just kind of wistful.
“You’re the one who left,” I reminded you.
“I know,” you said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the choices I made. Why I made them. What life would have been like if I hadn’t.”
You seemed so contemplative, as if you were taking stock of your life, judging it.
“Do you think you would have been happier?” I ventured. “If you’d stayed?”
You sighed. “I don’t know,” you said. “On some days I think I would have been happier if I’d never tried photography at all. I think I was proud of my pursuit, proud of doing something important. But it’s been really hard. It’s taken a lot out of me. But . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’m not the kind of person who will ever be happy. Maybe I’m not the man I hoped I was.”
“Mama!” Violet said.
“Violet!” I answered her. She turned back to the toys in front of her.
“I just want so many conflicting things,” you said, your eyes on my daughter, watching her flip the pages of her book. “I don’t know if they’re compatible.”
“You’re just in a bad spot right now,” I said. “You’ll figure it out.”
“I haven’t so far,” you said into your coffee cup. “And I miss us, you, what we had.” You looked up at me. “I watch your shows whenever I find them on the air. Whenever I’m afraid, I dream about you. Whenever I’m sad, I wish I hadn’t left.”
My heartbeat sped up slightly. “Please don’t do this,” I said, holding tight to Violet.
You ran your fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry,” you said. “Forget I said that.”
I flipped Violet around so I could pick her up. “Listen,” I said, “it was great to see you, Gabe, but Violet and I should probably go.”
You nodded.
“I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”
“Thanks.” Your voice cracked. “Me too.”
“Say ‘bye-bye,’ Violet,” I told my daughter.