“Of course we do.” I roll my eyes at him. “And you already know what I like. I read a lot. What about you? Any favourite books?”
Sid exhales slowly through his nose. “I dunno.”
“Oh, you want me to guess? Is that it?”
My tone is light and teasing, yet he ducks his head, unable to meet my eye. I’m reminded of the argument we had at the library after we got married, not just because we’re circling the topic of books, but because once again, I’m stumped. If he doesn’t like reading, what’s the big deal? I’m not going to divorce my fake husband over differing hobbies.
Then, like an echo, Tom’s words yesterday come back to me.
What interesting things you still have to discover about each other.
I assumed he was being snide because Sid didn’t know how much I lovedAnne of Green Gables, but what if his remarks were meant to cut both ways? What if my disbelief that Sid hadn’t read it came across as equally naïve, because…
“No.” I stumble to a stop. “No, you can read. Iknowyou can read. I watched you read a letter right in front of me.”
“Sure, I can read.” Sid’s eyes track a flock of seagulls in the distance. “Slow and steady wins the race, as they say.”
“You read legal documents for fun.”
“Funis a strong word.”
“But why wouldn’t you be able to…”
He once asked me if I knew how to read, and I got mad at him for thinking I was stupid. Now, I’m sick with guilt. He was asking because for him, it wasn’t a default assumption.
“TNS taught some kids, but they didn’t give a shit if I could read. I was five feet tall by the time I was nine. They knew what I was good for.” He shakes his head. “I took night school once we got here. But I was starting from zero and working full-time. Silas still can’t read.”
“I’m so sorry.” Impulsively, I reach for his hand. Hisfingers are stiff in mine, clearly surprised by the gesture, but he doesn’t let go.
“It’s the main thing I worry about, going into the election. I’ve got a high-school education, and I had to bust my ass just to get that. There’re people like Tom running who went to university before the Quake—”
“You can’t compare yourself to him. You didn’t get the same opportunities he did. Besides, the world’s different now. You’re probably one of the few people running who has lived outside of this bubble. Theyneedpeople with your experience.”
“There are plenty of people who went through the same shit I did. They’re just not bull-headed enough to try this.”
“Sid.” I jerk his wrist, prompting him to look me in the eye. “I hate Tom more than anyone, but you know he wouldn’t have endorsed you if he didn’t think you were capable. He’s not stupid.”
“I guess, but—”
“No! Nobuts. I swear, if you make me say something nice about Tom again, I’m gonna smack you.”
That has a stronger effect than my pep talk. He grins. “Thanks.” He gives my hands a squeeze, then drops them. “You want to grab something to eat?”
“Did we bring anything?”
“No, but the rain is picking up and I was thinking, you’ve probably never been to a restaurant before, right?”
“I guess I haven’t.”
“Great. Then let’s go.”
He leads me to a building covered in bright red paint. A sign outside announces that the pub was one of a handful of buildings that didn’t fall during the Quake and has been preserved in its original form due to its historical significance. Even though it’s midday, it’s dark inside, thanks to the gloomy weather. Candles flicker on eachtable like we’ve stepped into a photograph from a pre-Quake lifestyle magazine.
“Oh!”
“Do you like it?”
“Absolutely.” April and I used to scavenge restaurants for their knives and tools. But I’ve never seen one decked out for dining.
