11. PAUL

Jack suggested we pick up some coffee before we went into the office. We found a tiny little place nestled in a row of restaurants of every kind: Indian, Korean, “modern Italian”-no spaghetti and meatballs, I’d guess-Turkish, French.

Going inside, a wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air. All around, smart young people sat at tiny tables, staring at shiny silver laptops. The café was entirely painted black, floor, walls, ceiling, and on the chalkboard was written up which coffee beans they were serving that day and what cup types: flat white, cortado, piccolo, espresso, almond milk, coconut milk, soy.

“I thought it was all tea over here,” I said.

He pointed at another board further along, on which was written: green tea, English tea, jasmine tea, kombucha, iced matcha. The list went on and on.

“What can I get you?” the barista asked.

Jack turned to me.

“Flat white?”

I nodded, feeling like I was on safe ground.

“Yeah, two flat whites, please,” I said to the barista.

She punched in the order. Jack flashed his cell phone over the payment reader. I really wasn’t paying for anything.

The coffees were set down at the far end of the counter, and it was good: rich and round, flavorful.

“This is good,” Jack said.

The office was a minute’s walk away from the coffee shop. We barely had time to touch our coffees. We made our way up to the office, riding in an elevator a few stories. Stepping through the glass doors, we were greeted by a large, open workspace, full with people.

The sleek screens of Apple Macs gleamed in the soft glow of the office’s natural light, falling from a roof light. Potted plants breathed life into the space. In the corner, a gleaming pinball machine stood, its colorful lights and playful melodies still now as all the young people who worked for Jack in London stared at screens or talked on phones.

I paused a moment to drink it all in. This was my life for the next couple of weeks, and these were the people I would spend it with—these and Jack. No one had noticed us. Jack strode into the center of the office and clapped his hands very loudly.

“Hello, London!” he cried.

People looked up, and their faces changed from concentration to pleasure.

“Jack!”

“Jack!”

“Jack!”

They were getting to their feet, waving, smiling. He had such natural charisma, such innate command. The tallest person in the room, people were automatically drawn to him.

Jack turned to me.

“Everyone, this is Paul. He is from the New York office. He will be here with me during this stay to help you catch up on some of your projects and the general direction we take.”

People greeted me more shyly but still with some warmth.

“Hi, Paul!”

“Hey, Paul, welcome!”

People gathered around, and without even the merest dip in his confidence, Jack launched into a stirring speech, completely off the hoof, funny, inspirational, as sharp as if he had spent a whole day writing it.

Now and then, he referred by name to people in the office – people he must have hardly known – but with that ability to make people feel like he knew who they were, what they were about. It was an incredible ability.

He expressed his gratitude and happiness at the opportunity to launch the new London office, emphasizing his commitment to transforming it into “the premier hub of AI innovation in Europe.”

His enthusiasm and certainty were infectious, igniting a spark in the whole team. People looked genuinely excited to hear him talk.

He started talking about me, about what a highly respected member of the team I was, admired by all in New York. It was odd, hearing him say it, because that was not how I had viewed myself at all, even a few days before.

Jack extended a half-serious invitation for everyone to visit New York, “to come and comment on Paul’s work, too,” and then softened it by saying, that “No, we are a team, and we work and think and collaborate as one team.”

When he was done, the room erupted in applause. Jack urged everyone to come and say hello, saying we would stay in the office as long as they wanted “or until our jet lag gets us.” The room buzzed with excitement, and I couldn’t help but feel part of it.

Two figures – one female, one male – approached me with warm smiles and hands to shake.

“Hey, Paul!” exclaimed the young woman, her eyes sparkling. “I’m Laura, the marketing manager here in London.”

I returned her greeting with a friendly nod as our hands connected.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Laura.”

The other person, the man, about my age but way cooler, dressed in a hoodie with a hip slogan on the front and expensive-looking sneakers, took my hand next.

“And I’m William,” he said. “I handle most of the design stuff around here.”

I shook his hand, too. He grinned at me beautifully. It was very clear that he was gay. It shone from him, without a shred of self-doubt. I admired that.

“Great to meet you, William,” I replied. “I am a design guy, too. We will have a lot to talk about.”

A grin spread across William’s face.

“Amazing.” He leaned in. “You know all the scoop on Jack, I expect?”

I really had nothing bad to say about him, of course.

“Ah, Jack’s a good boss to have,” I said.

“Do you know anyone in London?” William asked.

“Uh,” I faltered and then added as a joke, “You two and Jack?”

They laughed.

“How about we show you around a bit, if you have a spare evening or weekend daytimes?”

“That sounds fantastic, thank you,” I replied.

Then I heard Jack call me.

“Paul…” I turned and he was with a couple of people, dressed smartly, unlike most of the more creative people. He pointed toward a meeting room. “Can I steal you for a quick meeting?”

I nodded at him and looked at William and Laura before looking back at Jack.

“Sure, of course.”

***

At first, adrenaline – coming to London, meeting new people – pulsed through me and kept me going. Jack and I had a couple of meetings that had been mainly introductions and sketching out what needed to be done while we were in the UK.

But after a couple of hours, I started to feel more tired. My body started to feel heavy, the aftereffects of the flight. My muscles burned, and my eyes were blurring as I listened to people talking and talking. The jet lag was kicking in.

After one meeting, I found a laptop I could log into to read my emails, download attachments, and study some designs, but as I did so, I knew I was sagging.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned. It was Jack.

“How are you doing?”

I blew through my lips.

“Starting to flag a bit, honestly.”

He smiled at me.

“Come on, Paul, let’s go grab a sandwich or something.” I looked back at my emails on the screen. “Leave that for a moment. They will all still be there in an hour.”

I turned back to him and smiled.

“Cool,” I said.

He touched my shoulder again, more of a friendly tap this time.

“I am so tired,” Jack said, “that I am not sure if I am hungry or not, but I’m sure if I eat something, I’m bound to feel better, right?”

“Carbs,” I said. “Carbs and fat will solve everything.”

“Anything!” he cried.

He said that we could stretch our legs for ten minutes, and I could see Soho. As we strolled through its streets, the eclectic energy of the area enveloped us. There were endless bars and restaurants, of all sorts, with tables and chairs outside, nestling alongside late-night cellar clubs and music venues, closed at that time of day.

We navigated the bustling thoroughfares of Greek Street and Old Compton Street. I couldn’t help but notice the displays of Pride flags adorning various different businesses in the area, both old-fashioned pubs and chic little stores. I hadn’t really known that this was London’s gay area, but obviously, it was. What did I feel about that?

Eventually, we found a place to buy something. We didn’t go anywhere fancy, a regular sandwich shop, a chain called Pret A Manger, which they had in New York but seemed almost everywhere in London.

We each chose a filled baguette and a bottle of Coca-Cola.

“Jet-lag medicine,” Jack joked.

We walked back to Soho Square, but now, it seemed different from before. Everywhere I looked, people lounged on the grass, in the sunshine, lost in the pages of novels or engaged in animated conversation with friends. To me, the city seemed imbued with such an effortless cool.

At first, we talked about the morning and the meetings we had attended. But as Jack and I ate our sandwiches, we drifted off the topic of work. Jack eventually said to me, “So, Paul, tell me a bit about yourself. I don’t know much about you.”

I paused for a moment. “Not much to tell, really. Just the usual…”

“I don’t know… Are you dating or anything?” Then, he stopped himself. “Oh, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want.”

I laughed and said it was fine.

“No one special,” I replied. Then, I laughed. “In fact, no one at all.”

“That is the definition of no one special.”

He was joking.

“I guess,” I said.

Jack’s gaze held mine a moment. I shrugged.

“Maybe I’m not anyone’s thing.”

He sat back and furrowed his brow.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re a cool guy, smart, good job.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Not bad-looking.”

I chuckled nervously, unsure of how to respond.

“Haven’t really got time for dating,” I said vaguely.

“How much time do you need?” he asked, but I could tell he wasn’t really waiting for an answer.

I found myself suddenly feeling vulnerable. For so long, I had guarded myself against prying eyes asking why I hadn’t dated much. My friends no longer really asked.

“What-what about you?” I asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you seem to be going through a lot.”

He nodded and blew out a long, weary sigh.

“Yeah, man, getting divorced. I can’t even believe that I am saying it. Divorce…” He sighed again.

“That’s rough.” His eyes ran over mine. I wasn’t sure how much to ask, but he seemed open to me asking something more. “Has it been a long time coming?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. We were together a long time and really happy for much of it. Then one day, we seemed to wake up and realize that we were nothing anymore.” He paused. “Actually, it wasn’t one day. It’s been a couple of years of slow, painful realization.”

“That sounds hard,” I said. “It sounds really hard.”

His eyes danced over mine, and I felt empathy between us.

“You know, Paul, marriage is a tricky thing. You go into it thinking you’ve found your other half, only to realize that sometimes, two halves don’t make a whole. Or at least, they stop being a whole.”

He watched me nodding thoughtfully.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I could see he was weighing up what he wanted to share.

“Different priorities, different dreams. And before we knew it, we were living separate lives under the same roof. And the hardest part was realizing that the life we had built together was not sustainable.” He paused a moment. “Actually, you know, that’s BS, Paul. I am talking BS.”

The shift in his tone both surprised and intrigued me.

“How so?”

“I worked too hard, and I was always away, and she tried to tell me that, and that was really fair of her to do it. But I guess, and I would never have thought this way at the time, that part of me was choosing to favor work over being with her, with making her happy. I hadn’t realized that she wasn’t the most important thing in my life anymore. Because otherwise, I would have chosen her, right?”

I was staring at him, seeing this whole other side to this great, confident guy I was getting to know. He coughed and cleared his throat, and I could hear the emotion in his voice. “I can’t believe I am telling you all this. I am not normally an open person. Actually, that was one of Emma’s complaints about me.” He smiled, a bit shocked by his own admissions. “I can’t believe I am talking to you this way.”

I shrugged and smiled at him.

“It’s cool, man.”

A flickering, uncertain kind of smile was on his lips. I dared to ask the next question.

“So what do you want now?”

“I think I do want to find someone who I want more than work. I still want work. I still want everything I have created, but I also want someone I rush home to at the end of the day. Maybe that is what I lost with Emma. We had it once upon a time, but not anymore.”

He smiled sadly. “And now we are into the business of divorce. Lawyers and a property sale. It will become about money.”

“Maybe that’s okay,” I said, and he gave me a strange look.

“How do you mean?”

“Because that way, you’ll know it’s over, and you can build something new with someone new.”

“Wow, Paul,” he said. “That’s a really good way to look at it.” He chuckled to himself, looking straight at me. “A really good way. Thanks.”

We were facing each other, smiling.

“No worries, man.”

He was grinning at me.