Page 64 of The New Couple in 5B

He stares again, dark eyes searching my face. He’s good. EvenIalmost believe him.

“Thank you, Ms. Lowan.”

“Oh,” I say as if the thought is just occurring to me. “Can you leave a message for Xavier Young and ask him to call me? We’re supposed to have coffee, but I don’t have his number.”

He stares straight again. “Of course, Ms. Lowan.”

The doors open with their pleasant clicking and I walk through the lobby and am out the door before he has a chance to open it for me. He’s acting from fear, like Dr. Black said. He’s a man afraid of losing his job.

But what happened to the letter?

Maybe it doesn’t even matter. Ivan is dead. And so is Dana. His words, whatever they were, will never find her. There’s something painful and sad about that. I carry it with me to Gotham, the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet Max.

I call Amy on the way, and she answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” she says. “This must be a blow.”

I think she’s talking about Dana at first but then I realize she doesn’t even know about that. “Max. Yes, it’s awful. What happened? The imprint folded?”

There’s a pause. “There’s more to it than that, I think. But the important thing is that they still want you to write your book. You’ll be assigned a new editor and it will be published at Dunham.”

Assigned a new editor? That’s like saying you’ll be assigned a new husband or a new shrink. It’s not that easy. But I stay quiet because the truth is I’m not successful enough to make waves.

“It’s not ideal,” Amy goes on. “I know that. We can cancel. You return the money. And we can wait to see where Max lands. I don’tadvisethat, but it’s an option.”

I wish I were in a place in my life where I could return my advance, storm off in a huff and wait for Max to find a new job. But I can’t do that. My contract is with the publisher, not my editor.

“No,” I say weakly. “I’ll make it work.”

“You’re a professional. Of course you will.”

I’m disloyal, a terrible friend. But the need to support myself is real and this is how I do it.

“What did you mean when you said there was more to it?”

Another pause, which could be Amy considering how to answer or could be her texting with someone else while she’s talking to me.

Then, “Maybe you should talk to Max. I gotta go, hon. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Amy?”

But she’s gone.

When I get to the bar, I grab a seat in the corner. It’s a quiet weekday evening, a sharply dressed after-work crowd, low tones and clicking ice cubes. I wait a half hour, forty-five minutes, drain a club soda—no vodkajust in case, text Max about a hundred times. He doesn’t answer.

I play Wordle on my phone, killing time. My phone pings again. This time, with a text from my sister.

Still dreaming about you. Rosie, I’m worried.

I’m fine. How are you feeling?Remembering that my little sister is pregnant, and I am not, does not improve my mood.

I watch the dots pulse. Then,Maybe I should come for a visit.

Oh, God. That’s the last thing I need. I can’t even imagine her here in my life.Let’s talk about it, I type.Call me tomorrow.

I wait for her to respond but she doesn’t. It’s a new thing, that she even has a cell phone. There’s no way she would ever come here.

The bar gets more and more crowded, and I’m getting crushed into the corner. I’ve never known Max to be even a moment late. He’s almost always the one waiting on me. But my call goes straight to voice mail. Maybe he just needs some time and space. I flash on Dana, hanging from the rafters in her studio.