“What do you think?”
She whispers the question like she’s almost afraid to ask.
I grip the wheel, jaw tightening just a little.
Because I don’t do this.
Don’t say this kind of shit out loud.
But she deserves it.
“I know it doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter, “but…”
I trail off.
Then force it out anyway.
“It’s good. Real good. And I’m proud of you, Ezzy.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
I risk a glance at her.
And it hits me like a punch to the chest.
Her eyes are glassy.
Not crying.
Not quite.
But close.
“You are?” she asks, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“Yeah,” I say simply. “You did amazing.”
She looks away quickly, blinking a few times, like she’s trying to get herself together.
“Wow,” she breathes out, almost to herself. “That’s, uh, not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I ask.
She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “Definitely not that.”
I nod slowly.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Well.”
Silence settles between us again.
But it’s different this time.
