He said, “No one grows up . That’s one of the sickest lies they ever tell you. People change. People compromise. People get stranded in situations they don’t want to be in … and they make the best of it. But don’t try to tell me it’s some kind of … glorious preordained ascent into emotional maturity . It’s not.”

I said uneasily, “Has something happened? Between you and Lisa?”

He shook his head apologetically. “No. Everything’s fine. Life is wonderful. I love them all. But … ” He looked away, his whole body visibly tensing. “Only because I’d go insane if I didn’t. Only because I have to make it work .”

“But you do. Make it work.”

“Yes!” He scowled, frustrated that I was missing the point. “And it’s not even that hard, anymore. It’s pure habit. But … I used to think there’d be more. I used to think that if you changed from … valuing one thing to valuing another, it was because you’d learned something new, understood something better. And it’s not like that at all. I just value what I’m stuck with. That’s it, that’s the whole story. People make a virtue out of necessity. They sanctify what they can’t escape.

“I do love Lisa, and I do love the girls … but there’s no deeper reason than the fact that that’s the best I can make of my life, now. I can’t argue with a single thing I said when I was nineteen years old – because I don’t know better now. I’m not wiser . That’s what I resent: all the fucking pretentious lies we were fed about growth and maturity . No one ever came clean and admitted that ‘love’ and ‘sacrifice’ were just what you did to stay sane when you found yourself backed into a different kind of corner.”

I said, “You really are full of shit. I hope you don’t take Ds at parties.”

He looked stung for a moment, then he understood: I was promising to keep my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to throw a word of this back at him when he was sober.

I walked him to the station just before midnight. There was a warm breeze blowing, and ten thousand stars.

“Good luck with Stateless.”

“Good luck with your debriefing.”

“Ah. I’ll tell Gina … ” He trailed off, frowning like an aphasic.

“You’ll think of something.”

“Yeah.”

I watched the train until it disappeared, thinking: She did help me, after all. I actually forgot about both of us, for a while. And she’ll survive. And I’ll survive. And tomorrow, I’ll be on a South Pacific island … trying to bluff my way through two weeks with Violet Mosala.

Backed into a different kind of corner.

What more could I have asked for?

PART TWO

Chapter 9