Soon enough, we’re settled into the leather seats of his car, and with the rev of an engine, we’re off.
City streets fade behind us, replaced by open fields, farms, and eventually trees lining the highway. Orange. Yellow. Red. The autumn leaves serve as the perfect distraction from the deathly silence.
There's only one thing that could fix this—country music.
“Can I turn the radio on?” I ask just as Nate pipes in with, “When was the last time you drove?”
I turn to him in shock.
Two hours of driving have passed, with the wind whipping past the windows and the occasional honk from careless drivers being the only confirmation that we haven’t gone deaf. Why is he choosing to speak now?
His jaw clenches, and his hands tighten around the wheel as he senses my lingering gaze. I’m tempted to give him a taste of his own medicine, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Nate is putting in the effort to drive us all the way from New York City to Chicago—the least I could do is entertain him.
I fall back into my seat with a long sigh.
“Pretty sure I was eighteen. Both my parents had cars, and I’d borrow either depending on their schedules. When they passed away”—tears sting my eyes, sharp with the weight of their absence—“and the reason behind the accident never came out, I realized there was a huge risk to all mundane things. So I’ve avoided driving since. I inherited everything they had, but haven’t touched any of it.”
Nate looks over at me with the same sadness as that night at his parents’ house. “What’s your favorite memory of them?”
My heart beats a little faster at the mention of my past, but it’ll do me some good.
I picked up my life and moved at the height of their death. I swore I wouldn’t dwell on what was and hoped avoidance would make me forget. Looking back at it, I couldn’t have been more wrong. A decade later and the wounds that should’ve healed into scars still feel like gashes.
“All my memories with them are favorites. Gossiping with my mom at any chance I could get. Crushing both my parents in long hugs whenever I was stressed out of my mind. Eating dinner with them every night. It was the simple things, really.”
“No siblings?”
I shake my head. “No extended family either. Both sets of grandparents died when I was young, and my parents were only children.”
“I’m sorry,” he says for the very first time.
“It is what it is.” I shrug. “I’m starting to think it’s one of the reasons I wanted to spend more time with yours.”
Nate’s shoulders tense before his eyes soften, agony and pain swirling behind them. “My family really does love you. They were asking why I didn’t bring you to dinner last Sunday.”
A warmth flares in my chest, but it’s quickly put out by the underlying meaning of his words. He could have pleased themand brought me along again, but he chose not to. And I can’t blame him for how much he values them.
“How’s your PhD project going now? Are things looking up?” He swiftly changes the subject, and I refrain from laughing cynically.
“Not really, but it’s okay…I guess.”
The more I think about it, the more I realize Arjun is every bit right.
Anyone else would have wrapped up this project by now, yet I’m still stuck on the same step. It’s tiring—daunting—knowing that I’m falling more and more behind every day, but I don’t voice those thoughts out loud. Not with the way Nate reacted that time he dropped by the lab.
“I guess?” He repeats my words in disbelief. “You’re doing well, Vivienne. Good things take time. Don’t be too harsh on yourself and stop bringing yourself down—it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“I know,” I admit on a sigh. “I’ve been trying to make an effort to break that thinking pattern, but it’s so hard when nothing ever works.”
“I get where you’re coming from, and it’s especially hard in academia, but this is a good start. You’ll get there in no time. I know it.” Nate turns to me with a genuine smile.
I perk up from my seat at his words, clinging to his encouragement. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. I have no doubt about it.” The conviction in his voice is so strong that it feels like it’s already come true. “I do have a confession to make, though, but you first need to promise me you won’t get angry.”
“I’m making no promises.” Nervous laughter spills out of me. “What is it?”
“You had a stick up your ass when we first met.”
