About Last Night

The hill was long and steep. Nev was usually content to run up it once like everyone else, but Cath would run to the top, take the first right, fly down a steep staircase, turn again, and ascend a second time, just to be perverse. He joined in when they ran together, but twice was plenty for him. He opted not to finish the thought.

“Do you truly want me to stop calling you Mary Catherine?” he asked as they headed through the gate into the rose garden. He hoped not. The name suited her, and he liked using it. It made him feel as though he had access to her secret self. She hadn’t deliberately given it to him, but nor had she revoked it.

They passed an older man with a poodle who seemed perpetually to be in this part of the park. “Good morning, Arthur,” Nev said.

Arthur gave him a curt nod. “Morning.”

“You know that guy?” Cath asked as they left the garden and began to descend the park’s steepest hill.

“Not really. Only from here. I introduced myself once.”

“Why?” she asked, incredulous.

“I saw him all the time. Thought I’d like to be able to say hello.”

Cath usually kept her eyes on her battered trainers when she ran, but now she turned to look at him with a baffled, slightly indignant expression. “You saw me all the time and never introduced yourself.”

“True,” he said, amused and secretly pleased that she cared. “But you’re a great deal more intimidating than Arthur.”

“I am?”

He grinned. “I fancied you, darling, but I was fairly sure if I offered you my hand to shake, you’d bite it off.”

She turned her attention back to her feet, her smile contained to the periphery of her mouth. He saw it, though. He loved to make her smile.

She was silent as they passed along the front end of the park, but as they began to work their way up the slope of the hill, she said, “My dad called me Mary Catherine. He died when I was fourteen. After that, I couldn’t stand to hear it anymore.”

He let this information settle. They crested the hill, turned, and began to descend the stairs.

“Did you like it when he called you that?”

“I liked everything about my dad.”

Right turn. Back on asphalt. Uphill again.

“You can call me Mary Catherine if you want to,” she said when they were nearly at the top. “I don’t really mind it. From you.” And then the hill eased off and she put on a burst of speed, forcing him to work hard to keep up.

Progress followed by distance. It was the only way she could handle intimacy. Tell him something, then pull away. Let him close, then reinforce the boundaries. His job was to be patient. He could push, but not too hard.

“Would you like to see a film with me tonight?” he asked when he caught her again.

She didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“Don’t you want to know which film before you decide?”

“No. When are you going to stop asking me out?”

“Never. Sooner or later, you’ll reward me by saying yes.”

“You’re a hopeless case, City.”

She had no idea.

Nev had managed to avoid his mother for several days by dodging her calls, but finally she’d phoned his PA and bullied her into scheduling a lunch. He could hear her now outside his office, subjecting poor Angela to a stream of not-so-veiled criticism of her hair, her weight, and her dress.

He sighed and rose from his desk. Better his mother aim her wicked tongue at him. He’d been listening to her recite his faults for as long as he could remember.

“Mother,” he said, emerging into the outer office where Angela worked. “Delightful to see you. You look lovely.”