I nodded. It wasn’t an experience I cared to relive.

“But now, it’s like the old Will has come back to us,” my father said. “He’s excited about life again. He’s even talking about going back to work.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I’m really happy to hear it.” We came into the large central room of the apartment, living room and dining room all in one, where Will and my mother were sitting at the table, picking at a platter of sliced melon. I crossed the room and bent to kiss my mother’s cheek, and then turned to slap Will on the back. “When’s lunch?”

“Hello to you, too,” my mother said, while Will slumped over the table and moaned about how I had broken his shoulder.

“Lunch is very soon,” Lumusi said, coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate of fried plantains. I gave her a kiss on the cheek as well, and she smiled up at me as she set the plate on the table. “I hope you’re hungry, Alex. I made all sorts of food for you. You are too skinny!”

“He looks pretty fat to me,” Will said.

“Coming to lunch was a mistake,” I said, but it wasn’t, really. Being henpecked by my family was oddly reassuring.

Lunch was, as my father had predicted, delicious. Lumusi had made jollof rice and chicken stew, and I ate until my stomach hurt. House rules dictated that nobody was allowed to talk business during meals, and so we chatted about the weather, Lumusi’s new grandson, and the Yankees.

After the meal, my parents wandered off—my mother to work in her office, my father to putter around in the garden—and Lumusi went into the kitchen to do dishes, leaving Will and me alone at the table. As soon as the room was clear, he leaned toward me and said, “I had an interesting conversation with Yolanda last night.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re still talking to Yolanda?”

“Yeah,” he said, and then, to my total surprise, turned bright red. “She’s sort of—well. I just think she’s an interesting person.”

“You were there for two days,” I said. “Will.”

“We talked a lot,” he said defensively.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” I said. “I’m just surprised.”

“I am, too,” he said, groaning and covering his face with one hand. “I don’t know what happened. I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“A bus of love,” I said. “Very sweet. She has some kind of fancy job, doesn’t she?”

“Investment bank,” he said. “She’ll be running a hedge fund within a decade. Anyway, this isn’t the point. She called me last night and said that Sasha came home crying and said that you were the world’s biggest asshole, and then shut herself in her room for the rest of the evening. Now, I happen to like Sasha, so I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s just a big misunderstanding and you’re already working on fixing it.”

I sighed and propped my elbows on the table, leaning my forehead against my closed fists. “You’re a meddling cretin, Will.”

“Thank you,” he said. “So what happened?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s not important. I overreacted. She’s right to be mad at me.”

“Wow,” Will said. “Alex Turner, admitting culpability? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut the fuck up, Will,” I said.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he said. “So what did you do?”

“It’s really not important,” I said. “I flipped my lid and said—something unkind. What else did Yolanda tell you?”

He shrugged. “Sasha wouldn’t talk to her about it. And I’m not going to pump her for information, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Some brother you are,” I said. “Come on, Will. Throw me a bone. I don’t want to just show up at her apartment with a boombox, like some sort of stalker.”

“So call her,” he said.

“I did,” I said. “She texted me and told me to fuck off.”

“Huh,” he said. “Well, that’s promising.”

I frowned at him. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he said. “If she really didn’t want anything to do with you, she would have just ignored you. But if she’s responding, that means she wants you to make it up to her.”

“I spend entirely too much time apologizing to women,” I said.

“So quit being such an asshole,” Will said. “It’s really not that hard.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be mild-mannered and boring,” I said. “What should I buy her? Jewelry? Expensive perfume?”

“You’re the one who’s fucking her,” Will said. “You figure it out. I’m not going to help you out of the doghouse. You probably deserve it.”

“For Christ’s sake, Will,” I said. “You’re useless. Do you think I should go over there this afternoon? Maybe she needs some more time to cool down.”

Will just shook his head at me. “It’s sad how you’re terrible with women.”

“You’re useless,” I said again, and stood up. “Fine. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” he said, and then called after me, as I left the room, “Say hi to Yolanda for me!”

* * *

I took a cab directly to Sasha’s apartment. No time like the present.

On the ride downtown, I stared out the window and thought about my checkered romantic past. Since the age of sixteen, I had never lacked for female companionship. I’d dated casually, screwed around, flirted with anything in a skirt, and even managed a couple of serious relationships. I tended to go for women who were elegant, accomplished, well-educated, worldly, and sophisticated. In short, everything that Sasha wasn’t.

But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. She was more to me than a warm body. Maybe she couldn’t quote Thucydides at the dinner table, but being around her made me feel alive. Every time she opened her smart mouth and sassed me, my heart beat faster, and I felt wholly present in my body in that moment. Not thinking about anything else, not worrying about work, just there, with her, together. She was clever, ferocious, and devastatingly sexy, and somehow, without my awareness or permission, I had started to care for her.