in with a group of young executive expats. My first impression of Stephen was of a stunningly good-looking man in his late twenties. He was tall and well built, with wavy blond hair, soulful eyes and a chiseled jaw. I must have done a double take when I saw him, because the friend who had invited me whispered drily, “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s got a boyfriend.”
My romantic aspirations were dashed, but as it turned out, he was originally from the Twin Cities himself, and we quickly became good friends. After the family I worked for moved back to London, he managed to find me a temporary position at the investment firm where he was a rising star.
The expat lifestyle was seductive—plenty of money, lots of parties, fun and interesting people. But after about six months, the glitter and glamour of Hong Kong began to get old, and I started to feel the lure of the open road again. When I told Stephen I was going to quit, he sighed.
“You could have a good career here. Everyone likes you, you’re doing a good job—I’m sure we could find you something permanent, if you wanted.”
I smiled. “You’ve done so much for me, and I really appreciate it. But I’m ready to move on. I’m thinking about Tibet,” I added.
He looked at me askance. “I hear it’s cold, and all they eat is yak butter.”
I laughed at him. “For a native of St. Paul, you’re a real wimp.” Stephen’s idea of travel was five star, first class, and almost always tropical. I didn’t have anything against that, but I didn’t mind a little discomfort, either, if it meant new places and experiences.
“How are you going to support yourself?” he asked.
“Thanks to you and this job, I’ve been able to save quite a bit. And I just got paid a thousand dollars for an article I wrote for a travel magazine,” I said proudly.
I’d been expecting a hearty congratulations, or at least a high five, but Stephen just looked at me in dismay. “You can’t support yourself on that !”
I laughed. A thousand dollars was riches to a backpacker. “I’ll be fine,” I promised him.
He pouted. “You’re crazy, but you’re cute and interesting, so I suppose I’ll have to forgive you,” he sighed. “But you’d better stay in touch!”
And I had. He’d been transferred back to Chicago two years later and now worked for an investment firm in the Loop. When I’d emailed him to say I’d be back in the Midwest for a couple of months, he’d invited me to stay with him, and I’d jumped at the chance. Stephen didn’t quite get my fascination with travel, especially the less glamorous aspects of it, but he enjoyed my stories and was very supportive of my career ambitions.
Dinner was baking in the oven and the sorbet was setting in the freezer when Stephen came home, looking glum.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as he hung up his heavy overcoat.
“Patrick called me at work.”
I sighed. Patrick and Stephen had broken up a few months earlier. In fact, it was Patrick’s absence that had prompted Stephen to invite me. He hated living alone. I was happy to have such a nice place to stay, even if it was just on the couch. But I was sorry for the circumstances.
“What did he say?” I asked suspiciously. Patrick, in my opinion, played games. He didn’t want to date Stephen anymore, but he apparently didn’t want Stephen to move on, either. He’d ignore him until Stephen started to get over him, and then, as if he could read his mind, would call or text out of the blue “just to say hi.” Then some heart-wrenching conversation would ensue in which Stephen fell for Patrick all over again, and nothing got resolved.
“Oh, the usual. He misses me, but he just doesn’t know if we’re right for each other, blah, blah, blah.” His handsome face was creased in a frown, and he sighed. “How about you, roomie? Got any good stories to distract me with? Smells fantastic in here, by the way. What are we having?”
“Chicken potpie. My
My romantic aspirations were dashed, but as it turned out, he was originally from the Twin Cities himself, and we quickly became good friends. After the family I worked for moved back to London, he managed to find me a temporary position at the investment firm where he was a rising star.
The expat lifestyle was seductive—plenty of money, lots of parties, fun and interesting people. But after about six months, the glitter and glamour of Hong Kong began to get old, and I started to feel the lure of the open road again. When I told Stephen I was going to quit, he sighed.
“You could have a good career here. Everyone likes you, you’re doing a good job—I’m sure we could find you something permanent, if you wanted.”
I smiled. “You’ve done so much for me, and I really appreciate it. But I’m ready to move on. I’m thinking about Tibet,” I added.
He looked at me askance. “I hear it’s cold, and all they eat is yak butter.”
I laughed at him. “For a native of St. Paul, you’re a real wimp.” Stephen’s idea of travel was five star, first class, and almost always tropical. I didn’t have anything against that, but I didn’t mind a little discomfort, either, if it meant new places and experiences.
“How are you going to support yourself?” he asked.
“Thanks to you and this job, I’ve been able to save quite a bit. And I just got paid a thousand dollars for an article I wrote for a travel magazine,” I said proudly.
I’d been expecting a hearty congratulations, or at least a high five, but Stephen just looked at me in dismay. “You can’t support yourself on that !”
I laughed. A thousand dollars was riches to a backpacker. “I’ll be fine,” I promised him.
He pouted. “You’re crazy, but you’re cute and interesting, so I suppose I’ll have to forgive you,” he sighed. “But you’d better stay in touch!”
And I had. He’d been transferred back to Chicago two years later and now worked for an investment firm in the Loop. When I’d emailed him to say I’d be back in the Midwest for a couple of months, he’d invited me to stay with him, and I’d jumped at the chance. Stephen didn’t quite get my fascination with travel, especially the less glamorous aspects of it, but he enjoyed my stories and was very supportive of my career ambitions.
Dinner was baking in the oven and the sorbet was setting in the freezer when Stephen came home, looking glum.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as he hung up his heavy overcoat.
“Patrick called me at work.”
I sighed. Patrick and Stephen had broken up a few months earlier. In fact, it was Patrick’s absence that had prompted Stephen to invite me. He hated living alone. I was happy to have such a nice place to stay, even if it was just on the couch. But I was sorry for the circumstances.
“What did he say?” I asked suspiciously. Patrick, in my opinion, played games. He didn’t want to date Stephen anymore, but he apparently didn’t want Stephen to move on, either. He’d ignore him until Stephen started to get over him, and then, as if he could read his mind, would call or text out of the blue “just to say hi.” Then some heart-wrenching conversation would ensue in which Stephen fell for Patrick all over again, and nothing got resolved.
“Oh, the usual. He misses me, but he just doesn’t know if we’re right for each other, blah, blah, blah.” His handsome face was creased in a frown, and he sighed. “How about you, roomie? Got any good stories to distract me with? Smells fantastic in here, by the way. What are we having?”
“Chicken potpie. My
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