Our words are all jumbled over each other, and I’m not even sure who says what.
Why is this so painfully awkward? It’s like we don’t even know each other. Like we’re on some sort of blind date and have no clue how to act.
I don’t know how to alleviate it other than shoving my way through it. Maybe if I pretend it isn’t happening, we can get past it without dying of awkward tension.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “How about you? Any girlfriend updates while you’ve been gone?”
“No,” he clips.
Nodding, I try to think through where to go next with that line of questioning. It’s difficult to continue an interrogation with this tiny scrap of information. Finally, I let out a dramatic sigh and say, “Cool.”
“Yeah.”
I squeeze my lips together, biting back the urge to growl at his one-word answers. “What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?”
When you were angry at the Christmas Eve party and embarrassed the hell out of me in front of everyone, then left without a word.
I don’t say that, though, because bringing upthatparticular night seems the opposite of helpful, and we’re already drowning in this tension.
He shifts in his seat. “Uh … Just work, mostly.”
“How is work? Is architect life still nice and architecture-y?”
Let’s be honest. I have no clue what he and my brother do all day at work. When Auggie talks about his job, I’m pretty sure my brain takes a timeout and fills with my favorite Lorelai-and-Rory banter fromGilmore Girlsinstead.
“It’s okay. I don’t quite have everything figured out yet, but I’m leaving the firm.”
I blink and tilt my head. “You won’t work with Auggie anymore?”
“He’s, uh … leaving too,” he says with a hint of evasiveness.
My mind whirs with these updates. I don’t keep up with Auggie quite as much as I should. He lives five hours from me in Eugene, and when we talk on the phone, it’s mostly to catch up about the kids. Combine that with the fact that all conversations adjacent to Gavin have been adamantly avoided.
That leaves me having no clue about Auggie’s work updates, and I’m suddenly wishing I had been paying better attention.
“How is work going for you?” Gavin asks, and I’m so startled that he’s trying to continue the conversation that it takes me a moment to respond.
My “fine” comes out several octaves too high, but I attempt to cover it with another lower one. “Fine.”
Lying to him punctures my soul a little. It’s not that I feel like I can’t be honest with him. I’m just not prepared to talk about my plans yet.
So after a few deep breaths, I say something truthful to make up for my lie. “I just feel like something’s missing in my life, and I want to find it. But I’m also not sure how.”
Those words are more than I’ve admitted to anyone, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for his response.
“I know what you mean,” he murmurs, nodding his head.
Surprise flickers through me. “Do you know what it is that you’re missing?”
He rubs his fingertips over his lips, which is Gavin’s telltale sign that he’s thinking about something. I’ve seen him do it when he’s trying to decide what he should add to a recipe and when he’s contemplating his next move in a board game.
Since I’m driving, I can only give myself one second to watch, but he might as well have touchedmylips for how intimate it feels for the briefest of moments.
Finally, he drops his hand and states simply, “I’m missing a home. A place that’s finally mine.”
Desperation colors his tone, and my throat tightens uncomfortably. I don’t know all the details of Gavin’s childhood in foster care, but I know he was in and out of homes regularly. And I’ve heard from Auggie that some of those homes didn’t care for him as well as they should have.
My stomach churns with the memory of what I said when I saw him last night, and suddenly the thought of taking another bite of my breakfast sounds nauseating.
