“I do like to walk,” I mimic.
“Unless you’re too tired. It was a long day.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. It’s a really nice night.”
He stretches a hand in my direction, and after a beat, I take it,loving the way it feels wrapped around mine. John wasn’t a hand-holder. Not that I want to compare everything about Miles to John. He’s not John.
It’s nice.
The area around The Bexley is more familiar to me now, and even though I don’t know where we’re headed, I’m comfortable here. And Miles makes me feel safe.
We walk in comfortable silence, catching snippets of conversation on the street as we pass by other people out for the night. A group of guys talking about where to go next after a game. A couple, one trying to talk while the other seems to be in a daze. We both stifle a laugh when an older woman on her phone says, “Well, did you try the Miralax? How long has it been stuck?” as she passes by.
So many people with so many stories. We all share joy and elation and darkness and grief. That’s the human condition.
That’s what being alive is really about.
I checked out of it for a long time, but I’m glad to be back now. Because I’ve learned that I appreciate the highs so much more because of the lows.
Just because I wouldn’t have chosen this outcome for my life doesn’t mean my life can’t become something beautiful.
Maybe it’s my mood. Things haven’t gone this right for me in years, and noweverythingfeels bigger and brighter and more beautiful.
We stop at a red light, waiting to cross the street, and the pause pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over at Miles and find him watching me.
“I have a confession to make,” he says.
“Miles, I’vetoldyou that’s a horrible way to—”
He laughs. “I know, I know, I’ll get better, I promise.”
I look at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“I might’ve texted Minnie and told her we were going out.”
“You did?” I ask, smiling.
“Yeah. I wanted some dirt.”
“Dirt? On me?”
“I’m a landscape architect,” he says dryly.
I make a face at him. “If we’re going to make this work, your jokes are going to have to get alotbetter.”
He laughs.
“Notdirt, exactly. I needed some ideas,” he says. “She told me that for years you tried to get your ex to take you guys to Epcot so you could ride some ride...?”
“Soarin’ Around the World,” I say without hesitation. “Have you been?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t. But I’ll go with you if you want to.”
I grin. “John hated everything Disney. The crowds. The heat. The prices. I love it because it makes me feel like a kid.” I shrug. “I don’t think I felt like a kid even when Iwasa kid.”
“You’re an old soul,” he says.
