Usha Kottayam

I settled on microwaving a bowl of soup while she stood there, waiting for me to talk to her about Cecilia. I wasn’t playing along.“Well?!” she finally prompted me. “How was it?!”“You want the details of my afternoon with Cecilia?” I asked her skeptically. “How was YOUR afternoon?” I asked pointedly.“I’m just asking how things went,” she said defensively. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her, taking my bowl of soup out of the microwave to stir it and decide whether it’s warm enough or needed more time.“You HAVE to talk about it, John!” she argued immediately, like she hadn’t just finished telling me that she’d respect my desire for privacy. “What was it like? Was it awkward? You weren’t disappointed, were you? Everything went okay?”I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, counted to ten, imagined myself in my happy place and all the other bullshit techniques to ease off stress. I put my bowl back in the microwave and set. At 5:45 there was a knock on the door. Livy was standing there in her standard casual-Friday attire: corporate logo denim shirt and a pair of tight pants. Livy had already called the desk for a cab and made reservations at a local seafood restaurant. We didn't say much on the cab ride there. We had already seen more of each other in the past forty-eight hours than we usually saw each other all year. Dinner was non-eventful; we ordered coffee and dessert. Somewhere between the key-lime pie and the Irish coffee, the tension started to build. We had both felt it in the past, but we saw each other so rarely because we worked in different offices it was nothing more than a fleeting nudge. However, this time, the conversation became more intimate and personal. We soon hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel. As we walked through the lobby, Livy asked me if I wanted to go to the lounge and get a drink. As we headed into the lounge, we saw several familiar faces of fellow conference.
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