I hadn’t seen her in close to a year so I thought she might have left Michigan to pursue work back in her native Shanghai.
We hug and catch up as her new boyfriend sits at the piano bar, watching her in silent adoration.
And then she asks in Chinese, “So have you seen him.”
I answer, also in Chinese, that I have.
Having thus suddenly entered a secret treatise, she continues.
“Was he alone?”
I stutter that he was indeed alone tonight having dinner with business colleagues.
“Which implies by inference that he wasn’t alone other nights and that he was with a woman. Am I right?”
My speechlessness betrays everything.
“It’s okay,” she says, “I know who he’s seeing right now.”
The only way to end this is to start playing.
And she sits.
But I know she’s not really listening.
Wondering instead if the man she still loves will ever speak her name again.