He makes a frustrated noise and looks at me.“I’m trying to ask if you’re okay.”
For several seconds, I honestly don’t know what to say.I mean, it’s not like nobody has ever asked me that before.But it’s been a year.And a year is a long time.And people want to think you’re getting better.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything.
“DV’s are fucked up,” I say.
He’s still looking at me.His eyes are so dark they’re almost lost in the interior of the truck.
I look forward and flip the visor down, and the light from the vanity mirror is like a cheap trick.I check my teeth for tomato sauce.He’s still looking at me.I flip the visor up again, and my eyes take a while to adjust to the darkness.
“Why the fuck do people do that to themselves?”I ask, and I’m surprised to hear how ragged my voice sounds.“I mean, life is fucking hard.It’s hard enough you don’t need to go making it harder for yourself.”
“People get trapped,” Sam says.“They think—”
I shake my head, and he stops.I want to stop too, but instead, I start talking again.“It’s not that.It’s—it’s everything.It’s everybody.You watch people get their lives tangled together, and all they do is fuck each other up.We’d all be better off if we left each other the fuck alone.”
And then I’m tired.Bone-deep, dog tired, like I’ve been digging trenches all day or some other equally macho bullshit.I let my head fall back.I need to get out of the truck.
“Gran says you don’t got nothing if you don’t got love,” Sam says.
I’m not even trying to be a bitch; I’m too tired.The question is just a question because for some reason, I’m dragging this conversation out to its death.“Gran says that, huh?”
“I tell her it sounds like she didn’t go to school when she says it like that, but she likes it.”
“It sounds all right,” I say, because apparently Iamgoing to drag this thing out to its fucking grimmest finale.My voice even sounds pretend-normal.“I think sometimes stuff like that is supposed to sound folksy.”
Sam moves in his seat.He’s in my peripheral vision, arms resting on the steering wheel, leaning forward like he’s trying to see something out of sight.“I look at my dad, and I think leaving people alone gets pretty lonely after a while.”Then he says, “Gran would say I don’t have any room to talk since it’s been about a million years since I went on a date, so maybe I’m the one who’s lonely.”And then, like he’s talking to himself, or making a note, or something, he adds, “That’s called projection.”
I don’t know why, but it cracks me up.I start laughing, and Sam glances over his shoulder at me, confused at first, and then a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, and a question still written on his lips.He’s got a cute mouth.Defined lips, but not full.He’s so serious all the time, it would be fun to make a game out of it, seeing what it took to make him smile.
Andthatis definitely out-of-bounds thinking, so I make myself sit up.“Sorry,” I say.“Not laughing at you.I don’t know.I wasn’t expecting that.”
He might be blushing.
“Whyareyou single?”The question is out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying.
To my surprise, Sam laughs.“I’m single because I can’t get a date.”
“Bullshit,” I say, copying his tone as closely as I can.He laughs again, but he shakes his head.“You can’t get a date.Bull fucking shit.You’re young.You’re hot.You’re police.You’re single.It’s a college town, bro.It’s fucking Hometown Buffet.”
He does this little thing that’s not quite a shrug and settles back into his seat again.
“Let me guess,” I say.“You don’t even try.”
“I try.”
I snort.“Fuck that.”
He doesn’t get angry; he cracks a grin.“You sound like Gran.”
“Your gran is a fucking genius, then.You want to get laid, Sammy?Get on one of those apps and take a picture of yourself with your shirt off.Oh, fuck.”I snap my fingers.“You need one of those pictures of you holding a fish.”
He does that little squirm again.But the weird thing is, I can tell he likes it, and there’s this part of my brain that’s alive and awake and bright again, and another part that’s saying, boy-fucking-howdy, trouble, trouble, trouble.
Then he straightens up, and that look is back—the one that might be a challenge.Or, my brain adds, might be something else.
