Page 57 of ClickBack

“There was powdered sugar on your chin.”

“Was?”

“I’ve handled it.”

I wait until she gets into the car and pulls away. Graves approaches from the corner, carrying a bag from one of the food stalls.

“Fun?”

“Go away.”

He nods toward the car. “That good.”

Over the next week, I learn that her workday does not end just because the clock says it should, and she learns that treatment can run late without anybody being hurt. We stop suggesting times neither of us can make. Some evenings we talk on the phone. Some we spend together.

On a night when she is still working after nine, I ask if she wants me to order dinner.

Zel: Chicken satay, spring rolls, mango sticky rice. Extra mango.

Me: You ready for this question.

Zel: I’ve been thinking about dinner for two hours. Ask about dessert. I have alternatives.

She sends the restaurant name and a warning that they never include enough peanut sauce. I call instead of ordering through the app. Forty minutes later, she sends a picture of her laptop pushed aside to accommodate the containers.

Zel: You discussed the sauce with a person, didn’t you?

Me: You gave me an assignment.

Zel: This is excellent work.

I save the picture. Her foot is tucked beneath her on the chair, and one of the earrings she bought at the market is lying beside the computer. I like being able to imagine where she is when we talk.

Another night, I have one shoe on and my fob in my hand when she points the remote at a man on television.

“Blue suit has a girlfriend.”

I look from her to the screen. A dating-show reunion is starting. The man in the blue suit appears to be explaining why he dislikes labels.

“He was on a dating show,” I say.

“Yes. She is probably finding that as interesting as we are.”

I sit to put on the other shoe. Within a few minutes, Giselle predicts a clip, objects to the host’s wording, and identifies the empty chair onstage as a problem the man should have noticed earlier.

A woman walks out. Blue suit stops talking.

Giselle turns toward me.

“You’ve seen this,” I accuse her.

“Not one episode.”

“Then how?”

“He has said he’s private six times. That man is hiding a person.”

I take the shoe off.