“Hi,” I finally manage. “So. This is... awkward.”
Understatement of the decade.
No, thecentury.
The entire five-year statute of limitations I’ve been running on.
I fold my arms defensively in front of my chest. It’s a tell. I know it’s a tell.
Heprobably knows it’s a tell.
But I do it anyway because my hands need something to do other than shake.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says quietly.
I force a smile that he probably can’t see. “Well. Same.”
Brilliant. Really bringing your A-game to this conversation, counselor.
He’s still too close.
Or maybe not close enough.
I can’t tell anymore.
The space between us feels like it’s both expanding and contracting simultaneously, which isn’t physically possible but emotionally?
Completely accurate.
“Were you just...” I gesture vaguely toward where the woman disappeared. “On a date?”
Why are you asking that?
That’s none of your business.
You don’t get to ask that.
“No.” He says it simply. No elaboration.
“Oh.”
That’s your follow-up?
Oh?
The silence stretches again.
I should fill it.
I’m good at filling silences.
It’s literally part of my job description.
I talk for a living.
I argue and negotiate and explain complex liability structures to hostile parties.
But right now I can’t remember how words work.
