Page 32 of The Unraveling

But it’s dead.

Damn.

I put it away and sit there, feeling weirdly awkward as I try to figure out what to do with my hands and gaze.

I hear a small chuckle beside me and I turn to see that the man is laughing. At, I’m pretty sure, me.

“Are you laughing at me?” I ask.

“People your age are so lost without your phones.”

My mouth falls open in surprise at his candor. “Okay, well, if I had known I was going to be out dining alone, I would have brought something to read or something.”

He nods, eating another mussel and then taking a sip of his own wine.

I let out a tsk sound and then try again to occupy myself in a nonawkward way.

But again, I hear him beside me.

“Okay, well, what is it you do when you dine alone, laugh at the people around you and just…I mean…”

I narrow my eyes at him and for the first time, his lock on mine. They’re gorgeous, steely gray. The laugh lines around his eyes make him all the more attractive.

“I’m Max,” he says, holding out a hand.

I hesitate. Then say, “Jocelyn,” as I put my hand in his. I can tell now that his accent is English, but there’s a hint of something else. I’m no expert, though, so it’s probably just that he’s from the North or something.

He releases after a moment and says, “So what were you doing that you find yourself dining alone? Surely you didn’t get stood up.”

I think that was a compliment.

“No. More pathetic, actually. My ex-boyfriend’s got an art show at the gallery down the block. I went for a walk and just sort of ended up outside. I know that probably sounds psycho.”

He shrugs, and I appreciate when he doesn’t get on the psycho-ex-girlfriend bandwagon with me.

“Did you go in?”

“No, I just stood out there. Like a creep.”

“Why did you break up?”

“I don’t know, actually.”

My mussels arrive then, and I thank the bartender and start eating.

“You must know,” he pushes.

“You really want to hear this?” I ask. “Is this how hard up people your age are since they won’t just go on their phones like normal people?”

He laughs. “I deserved that. Sure. Tell me.”

And then somehow, though I can hardly parse through it myself, I find myself telling him the truth. The whole truth.

I don’t just monologue at him. He asks questions.

—

The conversation goes on and the dinner crowd is thinning around us, the last few of our mussels going cold. Our drinks keep being refilled by the bartender, due to the flick of an eyebrow from Max.

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