Paul was my first love. Years passed before we met again, in an elevator. He didn't recognize me. After pressing the button for the 26th floor, he noticed I hadn't moved and asked where I was going. I answered in a small voice, "The 26th floor, too." He stared at me, his gaze so intense it made my whole body tense up. Finally, he spoke. "I don't recall seeing you around the office." My hand, clutching an insulated food jar, tightened. "I'm here for one of the employees," I replied. He nodded once and said nothing more. I stared at his tall, broad back for a few seconds, lost in thought. He didn't remember me. But I would never forget him. He’d been my boyfriend for three short months before using me as a stepping stone to get to my best friend. They became a couple. In the blistering heat of that long-ago summer, I lost my best friend and the love of my life all at once. 1 Paul and I stepped out of the elevator, one after the other. With his long legs, he strode ahead, and I followed at a measured pace behind him. He turned left into an office, and I saw the nameplate on the door. So he was the new boss Ian had mentioned a few days ago, the one who’d been brought in from headquarters. I turned right, into the main office area. At nine o'clock at night, the development department was still a blaze of light. Most of Ian's colleagues knew me. Seeing me with the food jar, their eyes went wide with envy. "Damn it! How come Ian gets lovingly prepared meals while we're stuck with the sad, lonely cafeteria food?" Under the pressure of their good-natured teasing, Ian smiled shyly and pulled me out onto the balcony. It was quieter here; this was where he always brought me when I delivered his dinner. Inside the jar was chicken soup, made from a free-range chicken my mother had bought specially from the countryside. The aroma was intoxicating. "Smells amazing," Ian said, sniffing appreciatively. He looked at me, his face full of emotion. "A woman like you... what more could a guy ask for?" "When do you think you'll get off work?" I asked, stroking his head with a pang of sympathy. "I think you're starting to go bald." "Can't be helped. New boss, new rules. Everyone's pushing hard to meet the deadlines right now." He leaned in and gently bumped his forehead against mine. "Once I finish this project, I can take my leave for our wedding." Ian and I had been set up by mutual friends. He had a high income; I had a stable job. We were a typical match in the modern dating market. After a few dates, we found we were both easygoing and got along well, so we made it official. We’d met each other’s parents last month and had started discussing a wedding date. He was good to me. Even though we weren't married yet, he was completely open with his finances. He’d learned a thing or two from the internet, always making sure to label his contributions to our joint account as a "voluntary gift." In return, I felt for him, working so hard, and often brought him dinner after I finished my own work. It was a comforting, stable way to be together. He didn't mind my plain looks; I didn't mind his straightforward, sometimes boring, personality. Just two ordinary people, supporting each other, building a life together. 2 Ian worked overtime for nearly a month straight, and I visited him every few days. Even if I didn't bring food, we'd meet up at a small restaurant near his office just to have a change of scenery. But every time I came, I ran into Paul. He was indeed a strict boss, with high expectations for his team. But Ian said Paul was fair; though he demanded overtime from his staff, he worked even longer hours himself. Most importantly, Paul was brilliant at his job. He commanded respect. I could hear the admiration in Ian’s voice when he talked about him, but I’d heard that tone from so many people before that it didn't seem strange. At first, I was a nervous wreck, terrified of what I’d do if Paul recognized me. But eventually, my heart settled into a placid calm. Even when Ian called out my name right in front of him, Paul’s expression never changed. He really had forgotten me completely. I breathed a sigh of relief. After a while, when Paul started to recognize my face from my frequent visits, I could even manage a natural smile in his direction. He was a distant kind of boss, not one to joke around with employees, so he would just give me a detached nod whenever he saw me. I thought this was for the best. Since Ian worked under him, the simpler our connections were, the better. 3 The day the overtime marathon finally ended, Ian called me, ecstatic, saying he wanted to come home for dinner. I left work early and went to his place with a bag full of groceries. I love to cook, and I love seeing the look of happiness on the faces of people I care about when they eat my food. Ian was hopeless in the kitchen, so he always took on the dishwashing duties. I heard the key in the lock and walked out of the kitchen, spatula in hand, just in time to see Ian step inside carrying a fruit basket. Before I could greet him, I saw Paul standing right behind him. The cheerful "You're home!" died in my throat. I stood frozen for a few seconds. Ian, oblivious to my strange reaction, was busy finding slippers for Paul. "Director, you can wear these. They're brand new, I haven't even worn them yet." They were the matching couple's slippers I'd bought last month. The women's pair was on my feet right now. I curled my toes uncomfortably. But Ian didn't know, and I couldn't tell him I didn't like him giving our couple's slippers to someone else. He was a guest, after all, and Ian's boss at that. Of course, he had to be treated with care. Paul saw me and greeted me naturally. "Hello. Sorry to impose." Ian grinned. "I ran into the Director just as I was leaving work. He asked if I wanted to grab dinner, so I invited him over to our place. "Director, I'm not just bragging, my Nina's cooking is top-notch! You'll know once you try it." A corner of Paul's mouth twitched. "I don't need to try it to know. Every time your girlfriend brings you one of her special deliveries, I can smell it all the way from my office." I forced a smile. "Director, are there any foods you don't eat?" "Nothing in particular," Paul said. "I can eat anything." He was lying. He didn’t eat ginger, scallions, or cilantro. And he couldn’t handle spicy food. But Ian loved spicy food. Of course, I could have pretended I didn't know. But Paul was Ian's boss. If he was unhappy with the meal tonight, would he make things difficult for Ian at work? I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment, then changed the planned Szechuan spicy fish to a milder pickled fish soup. I added only a few dried chilies to the braised pork ribs for a hint of flavor. I stir-fried some shredded potatoes and made a simple tofu soup, with a separate bowl of spicy chili dip on the side. It was enough for the three of us. When the food was on the table, Ian excitedly pulled out a bottle of red wine he’d been saving, saying he wanted to thank Paul for all his help recently. I wanted to stop him. Ian was a one-drink lightweight. But the wine was already breathing, and saying something now would just pour cold water on his enthusiasm. So, I ate in silence. Paul wasn't a man of many words. The conversation at the table was mostly driven by Ian. Suddenly, I felt a touch on the back of my foot. I froze, my gaze instinctively dropping, but all I could see was the floral tablecloth. Was it an accident? I quietly pulled my foot back. 4 In the end, Ian got drunk. He was slumped over the table, his cheeks flushed a deep red. I poured him a glass of honey water, coaxing him to drink it, then shot Paul an apologetic smile. When Paul wasn't smiling, his eyes were cold and distant. He took out a pack of cigarettes and looked at me, a silent question asking if I minded. I could only say that I didn't. He sat to the side, smoke curling around him, and watched as I helped Ian up and settled him on the sofa. I bustled about, covering Ian with a small blanket, then clearing the dishes from the table. Paul made no move to leave, and I didn't feel it was my place to ask him to. But with Ian asleep, the two of us standing there was uncomfortably awkward. I had to wrack my brain to find things to do. I washed the dishes, wiped the table, and when I was truly out of tasks, I cut up an apple into little rabbit shapes for Paul. Paul speared a piece with his fork, studying it for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Nina." It was the first time he had said my name since we’d met again. "Are you like this with every boyfriend?" "Like what?" "Working yourself to the bone, giving everything they ask for." He paused, then delivered his verdict. "Like a maid." He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. "No, that's not right. Not just boyfriends. You're a free maid to your friends, too."
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