37. PAUL

My life in New York returned exactly the same. I went to work, hung out at my apartment uptown, and saw friends now and then, but I didn’t have the most amazing social life. I thought a lot about Jack – too much, in fact.

I decided to get fit, because that’s what people do in times of crisis. At the gym, surrounded by the clang of weights, the hum of treadmills, I wondered at what my life was.

Should I download Grindr and immerse myself in that world? I had been so afraid for so long of being open about who I was and to whom I was attracted that now it seemed quite a lot of pressure to put myself out there.

I stayed in touch a lot with William, and we even talked idly about the possibility of me returning to London to live. He said that I shouldn’t find it hard to get a job in AI and that he would help me find a place to rent. He said I “should get back out there.” To William, it was simple. He understood the gay world. I was a new person, just entering it, already burned and afraid.

He asked me once or twice if I had heard from Jack. I said no, and he replied, “Okay,” not saying it was right or wrong.

Day after day, I trudged through my routine, through the monotony of work. Doing so made me think if going to London to work in AI was my answer at all. My dream was to be a painter, was to retrain to do so. How would flying to another continent be anything other than avoidance?

Now and then, I was in a Zoom meeting, and Jack would appear, familiar and confident, expressing his views clearly and emphatically and cracking jokes. I always left my camera off. I didn’t want any sense that we were looking at each other, seeing each other. I didn’t want him to communicate with me with some small glance that only I would understand, his dark eyes looking straight at me, down the camera lens. I didn’t want that. I wanted to protect myself.

One morning, sitting on the 6 downtown toward Spring Street, I realized that there was only one real way to protect myself. This couldn’t go on. I put a request for a diary appointment for later that day in the New York office boss Harry’s calendar. A few minutes later, a notification came back.

MEETING APPROVED

BY

HARRY

***

A couple of hours later, in the late morning, I went to Harry’s office, the same one in which he and Jack first told me about the London project. I tapped on his door with the most hesitant knock, and he looked up from his desk through the glass and waved me in.

Harry was a nice guy, but he was quite reserved. He was not a joker. I entered his office, and he asked me to sit down while he finished an email.

“Sorry, man, I am sending an update to Jack.”

I looked at him. Every fiber in my body wanted to resist asking, “Jack?” He didn’t lift his eyes to me meaningfully as if to say, “I know you guys have history.” His fingers rattled over his keyboard, then abruptly stopped. He looked at me with a professional kind of smile.

“What can I do for you, buddy?”

I shifted in my seat. I took a deep breath.

“Harry,” I said, and I could feel my own nerves in my chest and throat, “I’ve come to give my notice.”

The surprise on Harry’s face was immediate, his dark eyebrows flying up in genuine shock.

“What?”

I nodded.

“Yes, I’d like to leave the firm.”

“Oh, wow,” he said. “This is unexpected. Is everything okay?”

I nodded.

“It’s just time for me to move on.”

“What about the London project, Paul? I thought you were stoked about that.”

“I was,” I said. “It was great, but I need a bigger change.”

“Is there anything I can offer you here that might tempt you to stay?”

I thought back to not that long ago, when I felt that I had been endlessly passed over for opportunities. Now that I wanted to go, they seemed to be able to bend over backward to keep me.

“No, Harry. Thanks, but no, my mind is made up.”

He pulled himself closer to me, across his desk, showing attention.

“When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible,” I said.

Now that I had made the decision, it felt both liberating and terrifying. I had nothing to go to, no real, concrete plans, but the fact that I was not going to stay here felt like a relief.

Like I had said to him, it was time for me to move on.

After the meeting, I went back to my desk, and somehow, the familiar surroundings of my office seemed different now. Everything was in the same position, and everyone who had worked there before worked there still, but somehow, it had all acquired new meanings and new aspects.

One day soon, I thought, I wouldn’t work here, and people would hardly notice that I was gone, which is the nature of our work lives. It’s so important to us, day to day, but if we leave, people will soon hardly remember us at all.

It’s because what’s at work is not truly important. Maybe that was what I had learned from London.

Across the expanse of the office floor, I could see Harry, facing the glow of his computer screen, presumably as he crafted an email telling someone – maybe Jack, maybe someone from our HR advisers – that I had just resigned, to begin the process of letting me go off to my future.

A few minutes passed, with me sitting back, feeling relieved, staring around the office. Instinctively, I picked up my phone and looked at the screen. I didn’t know why – that same instinct, perhaps – but I opened my WhatsApp and saw it at once.

“Jack is typing…”

I did not want to see what he had to say. I did not want to hear him imploring me to stay or to speak to him.

I didn’t need to worry about Jack anymore, so I seized control of the situation, my fingers moving at a frantic pace before his message even appeared.

I blocked him again, this time for good.