“Whenever I find a little fountain in a square, I let it become a home for me.”

I thought of all the mall fountains of my youth.

We cooked dinner and I chopped an onion the way Aiden had taught me, added it to the pan with the chicken. She rubbed the body in sumac, and we roasted everything. We had a glass of wine, and I didn’t feel like getting wasted to blur the distance between us.

The next day, Stone had already woken up before me and gone on a run. I found her at the kitchen table in her workout clothes. She poured me coffee from the French press.

“Morning,” she said, and touched my hand. “What are you up to today?”

I told her that Blithe was taking me to the fish market to buy fresh cod.

“I’m going to the concert hall with a friend to see this visual symphony, accompanied by that quirky harp player. Want oatmeal?”

We ate oatmeal with syrup and butter and cinnamon, and I didn’t feel like slinking away, like I often did after first hookups.

Stone had to go meet someone before the concert. She dropped me off, we kissed, and I went into Blithe’s and threw myself down on the meditation cushions.

I was afraid of this slippage: the way in queer time, a night of sleeping together can magically transform into a serious relationship. I reminded myself that I didn’t have to go along with this if I didn’t want to.

I took a nap, and when I woke up there was a text.

Do this again next week?

Yes.

I thought about adding an emoji or a can’t wait, but the yes was resolute. In fact, extra signification would have detracted from its solidity.

In the library on a warm August morning, I was watching Stone read as I pretended to scan my eyes down the rows of words. My phone’s projector lifted up and a slim silver hologram envelope appeared before me. An E on the front told me who it was from. I touched the letter and the hologram unfolded into a sheet of paper.

Yo, Pen, wanted to let you know we don’t need any more writers right now. We also found some of your ideas fanciful beyond proven audience interest. Stay good. E.

“So much for that,” I whispered. Stone could see the hologram text, backward, from where she sat.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she said as the hologram grew wings and flew away.

“It’s probably good for me to take a break from adv-tech, which leads me further into despair.”

“Are you going to call Sid about dog-walking here?”

“No,” I said, and the certainty surprised me. Sid and I had only hung out once so far, on a walk across Venice Beach. I was avoiding him because he reminded me of my past persona and other residual miseries.