Chapter 58: A Kink?
The waiter came and went and came back again and they barely noticed. Just like they barely noticed any of the other things that had happened around them.
Two and a half hours had passed because nobody was watching the time — it wasn’t necessarily quick or slow, more a genuine passing. The restaurant had turned over around them twice, other tables filling and emptying while they stayed.
Ryan had told her about the time he’d accidentally deployed broken code to a production server at Meridian on a Friday afternoon and spent the weekend convinced he was going to be fired, only to come in Monday and find that nobody had noticed because the system it affected hadn’t been used in eight months.
Zara had told him about a shoot in Tokyo where the photographer spoke no English, she spoke no Japanese, and they’d spent six hours communicating entirely through a translator app and increasingly dramatic hand gestures, and the resulting photos were some of the best she’d ever taken.
Ryan said his mother still called him every Sunday at noon regardless of time zones, circumstances, or any indication that he might be busy, and that he had never once not answered.
Zara confessed she had a fear of escalators that she’d never told anyone because it was too embarrassing to explain, and that in cities with escalators she took the stairs and told people she preferred the exercise.
"Escalators," Ryan said.
"Don’t."
"I’m not saying anything."
"Your face is saying something."
"My face is neutral."
"Your face is laughing."
"My face is deeply respectful of all fears regardless of their—"
"Ryan."
"They are a little terrifying though," he said. "If you think about it. The teeth. The whole mechanism."
"Thank you," she said, pointing at him. "Finally someone admits it."
"I didn’t say I was scared of them."
"You said they were terrifying."
"Objectively. I process the terror and continue."
"I process the terror and take the stairs and tell people I like the exercise. We’re the same."
"Definitely not."
She threw a piece of bread at him. He caught it, which seemed to annoy her more than if he’d let it hit him.
The waiter appeared and asked if they’d like anything else. They both looked at their glasses, which had been empty for a while, and Ryan ordered another round without asking, which Zara approved of with a small nod.
---
The drinks arrived and settled them into something slightly quieter. Less comfortable — the conversation had moved through the easy territory and arrived somewhere that had more weight to it.
Zara turned her glass on the table.
"The phone call," she said.
Ryan looked at her.
"What I said. About every time you pull back." She kept her eyes on the glass. "I’ve been thinking about that since I said it. About what it means."
"What have you concluded."
"That I don’t fully understand it." She looked up. "I’ve thought about why the attention from everyone else always made me want to disappear, and why the opposite from you makes me want to do the opposite." A pause. "It’s something about — not being the only one, I think."
Ryan was quiet.
"Every man who’s ever been interested in me," she said, "has made me feel like I was the only thing in the room. Like I was a destination. And I always found that—" she searched for the word, "—suffocating. It was too much. It asked too much back."
"And someone who isn’t treating you like a destination."
"Doesn’t suffocate," she said. "It’s the opposite." She shook her head slightly. "I don’t know what that says about me."
Ryan looked at her. "I have a theory."
"Tell me."
"You have a kink."
Her head came up. "I absolutely do not."
"The evidence suggests—"
"I’m not—" she pointed at him, "—don’t say that word again, I’m not like that."
"What is it then."
"I’m just—" she gestured vaguely, "—wired differently. It’s not a kink, it’s a personality trait."
"Those are sometimes the same thing."
"They are not." She sat back. "I’m just saying I find it more interesting when a man isn’t orbiting me desperately, and when he deals with the same thing I do. That’s not a—it’s just a preference."
"A preference," Ryan said.
"Yes."
"For men who have other women’s attention."
"I didn’t say that."
"You implied—"
"I implied nothing, you’re inferring."
Ryan smiled.
She pointed at him again. "Stop smiling like that."
"I’m smiling neutrally."
"You’re smiling like you’ve proven something."
"I haven’t proven anything," he said. "I’m just noting that the description you gave, of what you find interesting, is a very specific description."
Zara looked at him for a moment. Then she picked up her drink and took a sip and looked at the room.
"Are you a playboy?" she said.
Ryan’s fork stopped midway to his mouth. He looked at her.
"A playboy," he repeated.
"You know. Multiple women. Leading people on."
He set the fork down.
He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke it was slower than before.
"Back in college," he said, "I wasn’t good at talking to women. I wasn’t cool. I spent most of my time studying. Didn’t do parties, didn’t do the whole social circuit." He looked at the table. "But I met a girl. Emma. She hated parties as much as I did. She seemed as focused as I was, as serious. I thought she was exactly what I was looking for because she seemed like the same thing I was."
Zara was listening.
"After college we ended up at the same company. Meridian. The job was miserable, the pay was bad, but I told myself I was happy because I was with her." He paused. "I noticed things. The way she and my boss James were around each other. The amount of time. The way conversations stopped when I walked into rooms." He looked up. "I never let myself think the obvious thing. I kept explaining it away."
"Ryan—"