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Paul met his friend Rick Jacobson for drinks after work. Rick worked at a nonprofit that helped educate women, mostly in sub-Saharan Africa, about HIV/AIDS prevention. He had worked at nonprofits for years. That was who he was. In college, at Reed, where Paul and Rick were classmates, Rick had spent every spare minute volunteering for community organizations. He and his wife, Mary Louise, had three kids and lived in Rutherford, New Jersey. Rick had gained weight since college, like a lot of men, but he wore it well: he had a big frame and a strong jaw line.

“I want to hear about her,” he said when Paul brought him up to speed on Tatyana.

“Well, she’s beautiful and smart and talented,” Paul began.

“Good start. Not bad. What’s her name?”

“Tatyana.”

“Nice. How long have you been seeing her?”

“A month or so. But she feels . . . I don’t know, Rick. She’s just . . .”

Rick raised his beer glass in a mock toast. “Happy for you, pal. But isn’t that how you felt about Serena just last year?”

“For about a minute. Until we realized we had just about nothing in common. Nothing to talk about.”

“No comment,” Rick said with a wry smile.

“Anyway . . . Do you realize how hard it is to have a relationship in my line of work?”

“Come on. You’ll be rich someday. A lot richer than me. A lot of women find that attractive.”

“And those aren’t the ones I’m interested in,” Paul said. “Dude, my job gets in the way of my personal life. I’m already stressed at work, and I’m too exhausted to put in the energy a relationship requires. What limited time I have, I want to spend it with a woman who understands how busy I am. Which is not a lot of women.”

“They want some degree of commitment. Not unreasonable.”

“I’ve got friends at Aquinnah who are downright calculating and businesslike about their social lives. They want to control every variable. Each woman, they take to the same restaurant close to their apartment. It’s, like, a routine.”

Rick smiled. “I’m getting the warm and fuzzies just listening to this. Anyway, so tell me. What does this Tatyana do?”

“She’s a photographer.”

“She supports herself as a photographer?”

“I think so, yeah.” Paul had been wondering how she paid her rent. Living in New York City was expensive no matter what part of town you were in.

“She any good?”

“Really good. I want you and Mary Louise to meet her. A double date or whatever.”

“Great—let’s do it, then. I want to meet this mystery woman. Next couple of weeks, maybe? If you two’re still together?”