“Oh.”
The offhand comment his mom made about marriage earlier took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t a joke; it had roots in something deeper. He was divorced.
We reached a stop sign, and he turned to look at me. His eyes searched mine, and anxiety tightened his features.
“You didn’t connect the dots, did you?”
A wave of sympathy rushed over me. He looked so vulnerable, like he was waiting for the inevitable judgment to come crashing down. My heart ached for him.
Without thinking, I reached over and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered, lightly brushing my thumb over the fabric of his shirt.
A car horn sounded, and he pulled away from the stop sign. I kept my hand on his arm, rubbing slow, soothing circles. He melted under my touch, the muscles in his arm relaxing. We drove in silence as I gave him the space to breathe, to be honest, without any pressure.
The color gradually returned to his knuckles, the tightness easing from his grip. I didn’t know the whole story, and when he was ready, I knew he’d tell me.
“We’re going to go down south. With traffic, we should be there in time for the sunset.”
“That sounds nice. My friends are convinced you’re some axe murder, so I hope you prove them wrong.”
He laughed. A full belly laugh that made the car feel warm again. “Ah, well, you’ll have to tell them I left my axe at home, so unfortunately, I’m just taking you to check off part of your bucket list.”
I smiled and turned to watch the road as we drove south.
“Thank you,” he whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
“Thank you?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on the road, his tone sincere. “Thank you for, you know, helping me or whatnot. For not... I don’t know, judging me.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “When I get frustrated, I feel like...” I realized I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding ridiculous.
He glanced at me briefly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Like what?”
I shrugged. “Like I need to reach out to someone. To remind myself that I’m not alone, I guess. And I don’t know, it felt like maybe you needed that.”
I’d dropped my hand from his arm earlier, letting it rest on the middle divider between us.
His hand shifted, briefly brushing against mine. “I did. More than you know.”
We sat there for a while in silence again.
“I was married when I was really young. Twenty-one.” He paused. “We got married, and it lasted a few months before I... before I left and moved to California for a while.”
I raised an eyebrow, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “You left, like that? She didn’t go with you?”
“It was . . . complicated.”
I hesitated for a moment before asking, “Is she still in your life? What happened?”
“No, she left. She moved to another country. I haven’t spoken to her in almost five years. She’s dating and has a kid.”
My heart ached for him. “Are you okay?”
A small smile crossed his lips, and he glanced at me, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “You’re the first person to ever ask me that.”
I blinked, confused. “Wait, no one’s ever asked if you’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
