33. PAUL

Istood on the platform at Highbury Islington tube station, five minutes from where William lived. The bustling commuter crowd moved, swirling around me, as I awaited the Victoria Line train. I was aware that I was performing a trick, and the person I was performing it on was Jack.

I couldn’t shake the heaviness that weighed on me. The early morning air outside had felt cool against my skin, but now, the subterranean air felt almost oppressively hot.

The train rumbled into the station, signaled first by a great rush of warm, dusty air out of the tunnels that made you turn your face. The screech of the brakes as the train came to a stop made me take a fearful step back, even though I was used to the New York subway.

I stepped forward again, joining the thick throng of commuters pushing to board the carriage as the doors swept open, ready to begin their days.

When it arrived, the train was already packed with people, and strangers’ bodies pressed up against mine. Being British, people were either extremely polite – “Sorry, I am awfully sorry” – or they said nothing at all, pretending nothing odd was happening.

I found a spot to stand with my bag near the train doors, leaning against the glass partition to the seats, and thought about my trick.

***

The night before, I had changed my airline ticket back to New York. I decided I didn’t want to spend the day either ignoring or placating Jack and then risk running into him at the airport terminal, forced to sit together in the business-class lounge, in a reversal of our coming to London.

I told no one what I had done. I had quietly done it on the airline’s app in William’s little flat while he had been in the kitchen preparing dinner.

We spent half the evening talking about Jack, with me confessing to my friend much of what had happened, telling him about how it had started sweetly, how electric the sex had been, and then how two things had made me withdraw: the revelation of first the alleged affair in Chicago and then the possible reconciliation with his wife.

“Oh, my God,” William had said at every juncture, more and more amazed by our story before eventually asking the eternal question: “Why are men such dogs?”

***

The driver, in a hazy voice over the speaker in the tube carriage, told us all to “mind the doors” as they swept shut, and the train hurtled off into the blackness of the subway tunnel.

I stared blankly into the thicket of bodies standing around me, all harshly lit and lost in their own thoughts or on their phones.

My mind drifted back to the night before last, the harsh words and painful truths that had passed between us. It felt like a raw wound.

Maybe if I had dated more, I would be better prepared for the disappointment. But then again, perhaps if I had dated more, this brief time together would not have felt so wonderful.

The train hurtled in and out of stations – Kings Cross, Euston, Warren Street, Oxford Circus – and more platforms filled with people revealed themselves. People got in and got out, but the total number of passengers didn’t seem to change.

As the train left Oxford Circus, I closed my eyes and let myself be swept away by the clattering rhythm of the train tracks. An image of me and Paul together, walking in the street in London, talking happily, maybe his hand briefly in the small of my back, appeared. Then it changed to that evening I went to meet him for a late dinner in Clerkenwell, and he got up to kiss me when I had arrived. I had felt so happy.

The announcement system, in a pleasant English and female voice, said, “The next station is Green Park.” I opened my eyes. The images vanished. That was where I had to change lines.

As I stepped onto the platform at Green Park, I moved in a sea of people from the Victoria Line to the Piccadilly Line. On the latter’s platform, I waited for a train marked for Heathrow.

The train pulled in, and its doors slid open with a hiss. I joined a new crowd of commuters as we filed onto the carriage. Then I realized a second truth: I was back at square one, to the place I had been when I had first been offered this project. I would be without any of my dreams coming true: not leaving to become a painter, not having Jack, not comfortable staying in the firm.

The night before, William had asked me, “But how are you going to work together now?”

I had looked into my friend’s eyes.

“I don’t think we can.”

He nodded with an edge of sadness.

“He is your boss.”

After a few stops, some seats started to become available. As we headed out of central London, the sheer number of commuters began to lessen. I saw a free seat. I still had a long way to go. Heathrow was almost an hour out of town.

I stared into the window opposite my seat, blacked out underground. I watched my own reflection, which seemed so dim and yellow in the strange, unflattering lights of the tube carriage.

I wondered if I could get off the train now and turn back. I thought to myself, I could live in London. I couldn’t help but entertain the idea of starting anew there, in Britain. Maybe William would put me up for a while, at least until I found a room in a shared apartment.

I could find a job here. There were lots of opportunities in AI – perhaps too many. I could build a life for myself in this city with the friends I had made and the friends I had yet to make. What was I really leaving behind in New York?

But then I stopped myself: enough fantasizing!

Maybe I could move to London, but not today. First, I had to go home and face New York – I had to face a lot of things. I looked at my phone and found Jack’s contact details. It was stupid that I had blocked him, even if I only meant to do it temporarily. I unblocked him now.

I barely noticed the passing stations, each one a blur. Then suddenly, the Piccadilly Line train moved out of the tunnels and ran along above ground, first into genteel Georgian streets and then gradually into more anonymous modern suburbs.

Above ground, the signal on my phone returned. I got a few texts coming in. One was from William.

What time are you coming in? Did you lock the flat? lol

I hadn’t told him what I was doing.

Another text was from Jack. All it read was:

Hey, can we talk?

He must have just sent it to me since I had unblocked him. Any older messages would have been lost.

I put my phone away. I answered neither message. Soon, the train was reaching Heathrow. I stepped off onto the platform with an army of other travelers, all getting ready for their flights. With each step, I felt the distance between myself and London – or rather with Jack – growing wider.

But as I made my way through the bustling terminal, a sense of determination began to take root within me. I may have been leaving London behind, but the city would always be here. I could return whenever I was ready, and maybe I would be soon.

I had checked in online the night before, so I made my way past the check-in counter and toward the departure gates. I flashed a QR code over the sensor, and I was automatically let through.

At the security checkpoint, I put my things from the conveyor belt and passed through the metal detectors. I waited for it to bleep and for me to be pulled aside, but nothing happened, and the bored-looking airport worker waved me through without a word.

“Next!” she boomed.

I waited for my bags to clear the conveyor belt. Another airport worker studied the X-rays of my old underwear and my spare pair of sneakers, as if looking at an unexploded bomb. Then the belt jerked forward, and my bag trundled toward me in a tray with my phone, some spare change I had collected in the last few days, and my apartment keys.

I hastily gathered my belongings and shoved them back into my bag. I made my way to the departure lounge, past the scent of chain coffee and fast food stands.

I found a seat by the window, my gaze fixed on the tarmac below. I watched the airplanes taxi and depart. As I watched the planes take flight, a sense of calm settled over me.

I was doing the right thing. I was definitely doing the right thing.

My phone beeped with a text again. It was William. All his text read was:

What time are you coming in today? Laura and I want to go to lunch on your last day. Do you want to go somewhere fancy or like Chipotle

lol gross but say yes please Chipotle

I typed out a response, my fingers moving slowly across the screen as I struggled to find the right words.

I’ve changed my flight. I am at Heathrow now, leaving now

Can you tell Jack what I’ve done?

I need you to tell him. Just email is fine

Seconds ticked by as I waited for William’s reply. Then he was online and typing.

What do you mean?

This was a good question.

Just tell him, I replied.