24. BRUNO

In the days and then weeks that followed, my life split into two polar opposites: one part where all my professional dreams were coming true and one where everything else was falling apart. I often felt like I was navigating a thick fog, each step heavier a step into uncertainty, into a heavy confusion. Our once-promising relationship was over, and it was me who had put it out of its misery with my last text, and yet its specter fell heavily over my daily routine.

Taking Evan to school, I sat on the subway, listening to my son chattering on but thinking of Danny. The laughter that had suddenly, so completely filled my life was gone. Even the simple act of going to the supermarket felt strange and unsettled, the aisles stretching out before me like endless, tedious choices. What was I going to buy for dinner? All of a sudden, it didn't seem to matter at all.

Everywhere I turned, Danny's presence lingered, and I could hardly understand why. It had only been a few weeks. Was it possible that this was one of those loves that was just there, waiting for you all along?

I would find myself reaching for my phone in the faint hopes that Danny would keep messaging me. But each time, my screen remained silent, devoid of him, of the attempts to reach that maybe I actually craved. And that made it worse. He was respecting my decision. Had I wanted him to not respect it? That was insane!

With each passing day, the realization grew heavier in my heart that we had, in fact, broken up, that it was, in fact, over.

You hear people say all the time of some new relationship: "Oh, it didn't work out."

Was everyone lying in that moment? Because I felt like I had been punched in the chest…all the time.

One day, I went for a run. As I laced up my running shoes, that sense of dislocation gnawed at me, and I hoped hurtling through the bustling streets of the Lower East Side would shift it. Once I was outside in my shorts and the old T-shirt I ran in, I felt good. Avenue C buzzed with activity, the sidewalks full of life, vendors who hawked their wares, pedestrians, even the odd tourist.

I just started running. With each stride, I concentrated on my form, how I was using my muscles, my posture, my strike. I was not going to think about him. The vibrant graffiti adorning the weathered facades of old buildings blurred past me, just as the construction teams who were turning them into the expensive new apartments that I would have been so worried I could never afford to rent only weeks before. Now, I guessed, I could.

As I turned onto Rivington Street, I passed by cafes and trendy boutiques, kept on the crowded sidewalks, but kept thinking about my running form. But slowly, other thoughts crept in, and because they were not of Danny, I didn't really notice it.

The agent's approach to publishers was not yet complete. There had been a number of offers and counteroffers, and now, Cheryl was banging out the details of proposed marketing campaigns and spends that would drive my book not just to being published but to being a hit. Who was going to make the best overall offer? she kept asking.

With each footfall, I prayed for a final chunk of good news. It was all so exciting, but now I wanted it to be something, something clear and real. It wasn't just about the money; it was also about my future.

Reaching East River Park, my pace quickened as I was no longer encumbered by so many pedestrians in my way as I ran. The expanse of the East River was stretching out beside me, a vast, shimmering expanse. The grey waters glinted in the summer light.

I followed the path that hugged the riverbank, a cool breeze touching my skin, a relief when running in summer. The rhythm of my stride kept me focused as I thought only half-consciously of this or that, about my life. The Brooklyn skyline loomed across the water, a silhouette against the blue sky.

As I ran, the weight of my burdens seemed to lift, carried away by the pump of exercise, the thud of my feet and my thighs on the concrete paths. I found solace in the simple act of my movements.

I ran to the far end of the park, and then as I turned homeward, I stole glances at the boats on the river. In the distance, on the southern half of the park, I saw a solitary figure, shadowed by the sun. For a moment, I thought nothing of him, just an attractive male figure in silhouette.

But as I grew nearer, the familiarity of the figure grew. Could it be…? Was it…? Heart pounding in my chest, I slowed to a jog as I came closer to the man. It was Danny. I was sure it was him.

Was he here, in New York? Had he come without telling me? Or had he come to see me? That idea seemed thrilling to me, that he would do such a thing, even though there was no hint that he would.

With each hesitant step, I closed in on him. His back was turned, but it was his shape, his muscular, athletic form, his height. The hair was dark. He was in a suit, on the phone. Was he calling me? I touched my phone in my pocket. It wasn't ringing.

When I was close enough, I called his name.

"Danny!"

The figure remained unmoved. My heart raced. I called his name again.

"Danny! Danny!"

Finally, alerted by my shouting, the man turned to face me, his features suddenly revealed in the afternoon light. It was not him. It was merely a mirage, a trick of the summer light, or my desire that it should be him.

I smiled at the man, who looked at me with incomprehension, that New York suspicion of strangers. Embarrassed, I turned away and started to run again, my footsteps thudding as I retraced my path homeward.

I went to pick Evan up from school, and we rode the subway home. He chattered about his day, and what this person said, and what this person did, and how Miss Taylor listed ten countries in Africa, and he wondered if she only listed ten because she didn't know any more. I wasn't listening. I was just going, "Uh-huh,""Wow,""Cool."

Suddenly, a spark of life ignited within Evan, sitting next to me on the subway train.

"Daddy, you've stopped talking," he exclaimed.

Looking at him, I furrowed my brow, struggling to make sense of what he meant.

"What do you mean, son?"

"You don't talk anymore," Evan said. "When we come home on the train, you don't talk anymore. I talk and talk, and you don't." He sighed very heavily, very seriously. "The cat's got your fun."

A gentle chuckle escaped my lips.

"The phrase is ‘tongue,'" I said. "The cat's got your tongue."

Evan's expression was very doubtful.

"That doesn't make any sense at all," he protested.

"These sayings don't always make a lot of sense."

He didn't seem to agree with this.

"I bet you don't know eleven countries in Africa, Daddy."

I laughed.

"Nigeria, Ghana, Algeria, Senegal, Egypt, Morocco, Congo, Angola, Botswana, Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia, South Africa—"

"South Africa?" he cried. "That's not a country, that's a direction!"

And I laughed. I laughed and laughed, and it felt good, and he, in his innocence, laughed, too, just because it was nice to see his daddy having fun again.

When we got home, I was making a snack for Evan when my phone started ringing. I reached for it, no longer hoping it was Danny, and saw the name:

CHERYL CHANG

It was my agent. Finally, she was calling me.

"Cheryl?" I said. "How are you doing?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"No."

Did she want me to?

"I have very good news."

I felt my nerves run through me.

"Wow! What?"

She paused for dramatic effect.

"Transworld has bid $450,000 for a two-book deal, with a massive publicity campaign."

For a moment, I thought I must have misheard.

"What?"

"$450,000! Sorry I didn't get you to half a million." She paused. "Oh, wait, I did –a UK publisher has offered 70,000 – pounds – for British and Australian rights."

I could not believe it. I actually felt weak, like my knees might buckle.

"That's…incredible!"

"I thought you'd be pleased. I'll sort out the details, but I am totally happy with what we've got."

"Cheryl, thank you so much."

"Are you happy to accept?"

"Yes, of course! Thank you so much!"

She laughed warmly.

"Congratulations, Bruno. This is just the beginning."

"Thank you! I can't believe it!"

"No, Bruno, I have to thank you. Without writers, I would have nothing. This is a team, two people both doing their thing. That's what teams are about."

As we hung up, a wave of exhilaration burst through me. I started to jump around. Evan looked up at me in amazement from the couch. Not even his cartoons could distract him.

"Daddy! Daddy! What is it, Daddy?"

Laughing, I went to the couch and picked him straight up, lifting him into the air.

"Daddy is going to publish a book, and we can stay in this apartment or maybe even buy a new one for ourselves," he said. "Everything is going to work out. Everything is going to be fine."

I was holding my son aloft, and he was giggling and wriggling in my hands. Then, his eyes widened with wonder, and he said, "Let's call Danny and tell him!"

The moment froze. He hadn't mentioned Danny for ages now, and I almost wondered if he had forgotten him, which wouldn't have been a bad thing.

"What?" I murmured.

"Let's call Danny and tell him, Daddy." I was silent, mute, and let my son slide down to my hip, holding him like that. "Don't you want to tell Danny, Daddy?" he asked.

"Yes," I said without taking a moment to think if it was the right thing even to say. "Yes, I do want to tell him."

"Then let's call him," Evan said.

But I shook my head.

"Sometimes, buddy, it doesn't work like that between adults. Sometimes you can't just call them up and tell them something, no matter if you want to."

"That's silly," my son said very firmly.

"Yeah," I said. "It is."

But just because it's silly doesn't mean it's not true, especially after a breakup.