31. PAUL

As night settled, the silence between us still hung in the air, only occasionally interrupted. There was not exactly awkwardness or annoyance between us, but perhaps there was a sense that something had shifted.

He came and sat next to me on the couch, and we talked about what to order for dinner.

I watched as Jack’s figure moved across the room, going through Uber Eats options on his phone. He listed pizza, and Indian food, and Lebanese food. I told him he could choose.

When I said that, he looked at me as if I had said something harsh.

“Maybe I’ll sleep on the sofa bed tonight,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t believe me about the guy in Chicago.”

His words landed between us, a chasm. I searched his eyes, wondering what his intentions were.

“I don’t want you to sleep on the sofa bed. Besides, it’s much too uncomfortable.”

He shook his head and sighed quite angrily.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” I asked.

“I said it was better if you didn’t believe me, but you said you didn’t want me to sleep on the sofa bed.”

Some exasperation was in him then, more a physical thing than any harsh words or upset: that masculine frustration.

“I told you earlier that I believe you.”

He gazed at the floor.

“I know you did, but I don’t believe that you do.” We said nothing for a few moments. “I told you before what I want, Paul.”

I nodded.

“You want someone to trust.”

“No,” he replied. “I want someone who trusts me. It’s very important to me.”

I felt a pang of sadness in my heart.

“And now I’ve made you doubt that?”

Jack hesitated, his gaze drifting away from me.

“Why would I lie to you about you being the first man I’ve been with? It was important to me that you understood that and knew what I was going through at this moment in my life.”

I wanted to believe him, to trust him as he asked. I felt a wave of empathy for the man standing before me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have trusted you.”

Jack’s expression was somber, his gaze fixed on some distant point.

“There’s another thing,” he began nervously.

“What?”

“Emma…”

“What about her?”

He paused, and I sensed that whatever he had to say was going to be important.

“She’s asked me to come back.”

His words struck me like a blow to the chest.

“But I thought it was over between you, had been over between you for a long time.”

“It has been.”

It didn’t make sense to me.

“But all of a sudden, she’s asking you back?”

“Yes.”

Then some dark little thought entered me: this was what this was all really about.

“So that’s the real story,” I said, and I could hear my own bitterness. “You’re actually afraid of the world thinking you’re gay, and now your wife has come along and…” Then I paused. “Oh, God, no, it’s not even that. You were never separating all along. You did have that affair in Chicago. You did sleep with that other guy—”

“What? No!”

“And I’m just another one of your boys that you have sex with before you go back to your wife in Chicago.”

“No!” he cried. “No, not at all.” Jack’s eyes met mine, conflict raging within them. He came over to me. “Stop it,” he said. “Stop thinking about me this way.”

Jack reached out to me, his hand trembling as it brushed mine. I couldn’t hold it. He wanted trust, but did he offer it?

Then something shifted, and I didn’t understand what.

“Let me sleep on the sofa bed tonight,” he said, “and tomorrow, I’ll check into a hotel. We both need some space.”

“And then?”

“Then we can go back to the States and see what we feel.”

The weight of his words hung so heavy in the air. A sudden dread clawed my chest. I knew what this was: he was going back to his old life.