Anne Tyler - Noah's Compass

He settled on one of the love seats, which was as hard as a park bench and so slippery that he had to brace his feet to keep from sliding off. He was hoping for Eunice to sit beside him, but she chose a chair instead. So much for all her complaints about his lack of couches.

“She’s moving in with you, isn’t she,” she said.

“What?”

“Barbara. She’s moving in.”

“Good grief! What a thought. No, she’s not moving in. For Lord’s sake, Eunice!”

“I saw that suitcase! That powder-blue suitcase.”

“That was Kitty’s suitcase,” Liam said.

“It was an old person’s suitcase; you can’t fool me. Only an old person would have a powder-blue suitcase. It was Barbara’s. I bet she’s got a whole matching set stashed away in her attic.”

The notion of Barbara as an “old person” brought Liam up short.

“She’s moving in with you and picking up where she left off,” Eunice said. “Because that’s how married people are; they go on being involved for all time even if they’re divorced.”

“Eunice, you’re not listening. Barbara was bringing Kitty her beach things; Kitty’s going to Ocean City. I can’t help what kind of suitcase she put them in! And anyhow,” he said, stopped by a thought. “What do you mean, that’s how married people are? You’re the one who’s married, might I point out.”

Eunice sat back slightly in her chair. “Well, you’re right,” she said after a pause. “But, I don’t know. Somehow I don’t feel married. I feel like everyone’s married but me.”

Both of them were quiet for a moment.

“I feel like I’m always the outsider,” she said. “The ‘friend’ who’s ‘helping with the résumé.’”

She indicated the quotation marks with two pairs of curled fingers.

“I already told you I was sorry about that,” Liam said. “It was very wrong of me. Barbara just caught me by surprise, is what happened. I was afraid of what she might think.”

“You were afraid because you still love her.”

“No, no-”

“Well, why aren’t you sweeping me off my feet, then, and carrying me away? Why aren’t you saying, ‘Barbara be damned! You’re the woman I love, and life is too short to go through it without you!”

“Barbara be damned,” Liam said. “You’re the woman I love, and life is too short to go through it without you.”

She stared at him.

A key rattled in the front door, and someone called out, “Euny?”

The man who appeared in the entranceway was lanky and fair-skinned, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved plaid shirt and carrying a plastic grocery bag. His blond hair was very fine and too long, overlapping his ears in an orphanish way, and his pale, thin mustache was too long too, so that you couldn’t help picturing how the individual wisps would grow unpleasantly moist whenever he ate.

Eunice jumped up but then just stood there, awkwardly. “Norman, this is Liam,” she said. “We’re just… working on Liam’s résumé.”

“Oh, hi,” Norman told Liam.

Liam rose and shook Norman’s hand, which seemed to be all bones.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Norman said. “I’m going to go ahead and start dinner. Will you be eating with us, Liam?”

Liam said, “No, I-” at the same time that Eunice said, “No, he’s-”

“I should be getting along. Thanks anyway,” Liam said.

“Too bad,” Norman said. “It’s tagine tonight!” and he held up his grocery bag.

“Norman’s going through a Middle East phase right now,” Eunice told Liam. Her cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t quite meet either man’s eyes.

“You do the cooking?” Liam asked Norman.

“Yes, well, Eunice is not much of a hand in the kitchen. How about you, Liam? Do you cook?”

“Not really,” Liam said. The way Norman kept using his first name made him feel he was being interviewed. He said, “I take more of a canned-soup approach.”

“Well, I can understand that. I used to be the same way. Progresso lentil; that was our major food group, once! Just ask Eunice. But some of the people in my lab, they’re from these different countries and they’re always bringing in their native dishes. I started asking for their recipes. I do like Middle Eastern the best. It’s not just a phase,” he said with an oddly boyish glance of defiance in Eunice’s direction. “Middle Eastern really is a very sophisticated cuisine.”

Demonstrating, he opened the grocery bag and stuck his head inside and drew a deep breath. “Saffron!” he said, reemerging. “Sumac! I tried to find pomegranates, but it must not be the season. I’m thinking I might use dried cranberries instead.”

“That’s an idea,” Liam said.

He was edging toward the front hall now. This meant getting past Norman, who stood obliviously in his path and asked, “Do you know when pomegranate season is, Liam?”

“Um, not offhand…”

“Pomegranates fascinate me,” Norman said. (Eunice raised her eyes to the ceiling.) “When you think about it, they’re kind of an odd choice for people to eat. They’re really nothing but seeds! Some of the Middle Easterners I know, they chew the seeds right up. You can hear the crunch. But me, I like to bite down on them just partway so I can get the juicy part off without breaking into the hulls. I don’t like that bitter taste, you know? And those rough little bitter bits that stick in your teeth. Then I spit the seeds out when no one is looking.”

“Norman, for heaven’s sake, let him get home to his supper,” Eunice said.

“Oh,” Norman said. “Sorry.” He switched the grocery bag to his left hand so he could shake hands again with Liam. “It was good to meet you, Liam,” he said.

“Good to meet you ,” Liam told him.

He was conscious, as he started toward the hall, of Eunice following close behind, but he didn’t look in her direction even when they were out of Norman’s sight. At the door he said, in a loud, carrying voice, “Well, thanks for your help!”

“Liam,” she whispered.

He reached for the doorknob.

“Liam, did you mean what you said?”

“We’ll have to talk!” he told her enthusiastically.

From the rear of the apartment he could hear the clanging of pots now, and Norman’s tuneless whistling.

“See you soon!” he said.

And he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.

Heading up North Charles, he drove so badly that it was a wonder he didn’t have an accident. Cars seemed to come out of nowhere; he failed to start moving again whole moments after lights turned green; his acceleration was jerky and erratic. But it wasn’t because he had anything particular on his mind. He had nothing on his mind. He was trying to keep his mind empty.

His plan was to get to his apartment and just, oh, collapse. Stare into space a long while. He envisioned his apartment as a haven of solitude. But when he walked into his living room, he found Kitty kneeling on the carpet. She was unpacking the blue vinyl suitcase, setting stacks of clothing in a half circle around her. “I know I had more swimsuits than these,” she said, not looking up.

He crossed the room without answering.

“Hello?” she said.

“How many could you possibly need?” he asked. The question was automatic, like a line assigned to him in a play-the uncomprehending-male question he knew she expected of him.

“Well,” she said. She sat back on her heels and started ticking off her fingers. “There’s my sunbathing suit, for starters. That’s a minimum-coverage bikini with no straps to leave a tan line. And then my backup sunbathing suit, the exact same cut, to wear if the first one gets wet. Then my old-lady suit; ha! For when Damian’s aunt and uncle are with us…”