No, really Patrick. What do you want me to call you?"King, I'm thinking. King,...

No, really Patrick. What do you want me to call you?"
King, I'm thinking. King, Evelyn. I want you to call me King. But I don't say this. "Evelyn. I don't want you to call me anything. I don't think we should see each other anymore."
"But your friends are my friends. My friends are your friends. I don't think it would work," she says, and then, staring at a spot above my mouth, "You have a tiny fleck on the top of your lip. Use your napkin."
Exasperated, I brush the fleck away. "Listen, I, know that your friends are my friends and vice versa. I've thought about that." After a pause I say, breathing in, "You can have them."
Finally she looks at me, confused, and murmurs, "You're really serious, aren't you?"
"Yes", I say, "I am."
"But... what about us? What about the past?" she asks blankly.
"The past isn't real. It's just a dream," I say. "Don't mention the past."
She narrows her eyes with suspicion. "Do you have something against me, Patrick?" And then the hardness in her face changes instantaneously to expectation, maybe hope.
"Evelyn," I sigh. "I'm sorry. You're just... not terribly important... to me.