Page 70 of Two Marlboros

“Not at all, I just finished cooking.”

He followed me into the kitchen and peered curiously, wrinkling his nose to guess what I had prepared. He lifted the lid of the pots containing chicken with curry and peas and he was pleased.

“Wow. It looks very good.”

That was the last thing he said, before he propped his elbows on the counter and his chin on his palm, letting his gaze be lost in the void. He fell into silence, staring at the pans but looking past them, and for a while I let him, as I finished dipping the chicken in the curry sauce. When I noticed, however, that he seemed to have been sucked into his thoughts, I realized that something had indeed happened and that my hunches had once again proved correct.

“Are you alright?”

He came out of that sort of trance, but he did not have time to put on a fake smile, so he gave up and shook his head.

“Not really.”

He shifted his eyes from side to side, as if inside he was holding an excited speech that he could only express himself in this way.

“Do you want to go to the terrace?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but his gaze was caught by the pans, from which a draft of smoke was blowing its way upward.

“Don’t worry, let’s have dinner.”

“I put the lid on purpose,” and pointed to them, so that they contained the heat. “We can also eat in half an hour or an hour. It makes no difference to me.”

He stared at dinner once more, as if to assess; after which he slipped cigarettes and lighter from his back pockets and smiled at me.

“You’re also beginning to read my mind.”

He walked past me and headed toward the balcony, leaving me there to ponder whether that was a compliment or not. I caught up with him that he had already lit his cigarette, which he inhaled aggressively: every time he brought it to his mouth, the wrapper burned much more than usual.

“Harvey?”

“Yes.”

He took another puff and exhaled making a lot of noise, almost blowing annoyed. He ended that puff with a flick of his cough.

“Didn’t it go as you hoped?”

“It was the first fucking date. I expected more than just a fuck. He told me he had an engagement and left.”

“Not very romantic, no. Maybe he really did have a commitment, right?”

He sucked in a quick, full-bodied suction and puffed out almost immediately. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Why do you think he didn’t?”

“It’s a feeling. Do you ever get intuitions that you can’t define, but you know are right?”

“Yes, it has happened to me.”

“That’s it. I feel it. I mean, I don’t know. I think a lot of things all at once. Maybe too many.”

In the end, I too had nothing but intuitions about Harvey. I couldn’t pass off my thoughts to him as truth.

“I wouldn’t be so negative. I’m sure he will text you to apologize and ask to see you again.”

He huffed with a flick of his cough. “I don’t know. It would be nice if that happened, but he’s just not that type of person.”

Silence fell, but now he puffed more quietly, as he usually did. The wind changed direction and his smoke drifted into my face, fading shortly after. It was acrid and pungent, but it was not the same thing I had thought of when I had smelled the clothes I had worn to the party to see if I should wash them. It wasn’t even the same thing I had thought in the dream.

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