Now #3
The air smells like dry grass, pine, and dirt. Wind rustles through the trees and bushes around us, carrying the distant calls of birds making their final rounds of the day. And yet it feels so quiet compared to what my life has turned into since I left my home state.
I risk a glance at her. The sunset paints her skin gold, and her eyes almost look like amber. Being this close to her again makes my chest feel too tight.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” I ask, mostly because I need something to do with my hands.
“Go ahead.”
I take the silver casing out of my back pocket and pull out the only cigarette in it.
“You’ll have to refill,” she says with nonchalance.
“It’s my weekly cigarette, actually,” I explain as I light it.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I only allow myself one per week during the season. One per day on my months off.” The wind is in the right direction, blowing the smoke away from her, which is why I’m indulging.
“Why do you smoke at all?” she wonders, gaze forward.
“I don’t know. It soothes me. And with the rigorous life I lead, I feel like I’m allowed one indulgence.”
“Does your team know?”
“They probably suspect it, but they haven’t said anything. As long as it doesn’t affect my performance, they don’t have to worry about it.”
“So, it’s our naughty little secret?”
“One of them, yes,” I reply with a sly grin.
She nods and doesn’t say more. So we both focus on the sun again.
For as long as I can remember, we’ve been comfortable with silences. We don’t necessarily need to talk when we’re together, and I appreciate that. We find comfort even in moments like this, just being side by side.
But this feels loaded, as if the weight of everything we haven’t said and everything we wish we could say permeates the air.
The only way I can think of to break the tension is to mindlessly ask, “Would you rather never see a sunset again, or a sunrise?”
“That one’s too easy. No one cares that much about sunrises, Jax.”
“Sorry, but when I give you hard ones, you offer me blowjobs to get out of it. I don’t want to put you in that position again.”
She chuckles and pushes against me with her hip, making me slip and readjust.
“Did you ever find your answer for the dessert one?” I wonder.
“No, it’s still a trick question. And I got a free pass back then, so let’s move on.”
“Okay, okay. Would you rather … have to work every single day for the rest of your life, no days off, no holidays, or never get to work another day in your life?”
“Ugh, you really have a knack for the hard ones. I love my job, so I’d be sad if I couldn’t keep doing it. But every single day? My clients would drive me nuts.”
“So? What are you choosing?”
“Never work again,” she decides with a wince. “I’d find myself one hell of a hobby to make up for it.”
“Good answer.” I’m finished with my cigarette, so I make sure it’s done burning before slipping it into the empty case and returning it to my pocket. “Your turn.”
“Would you rather win all the remaining Grand Prix trophies this season, or end world hunger?”
I laugh like I haven’t in a while, like only she can make me laugh. “You little …”
“Pick whatever your heart desires the most, Hot Wheels.”
“Well, I can’t not say world hunger. So, I’d rather end that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“How selfless of you.”
“I can always win all the races next season.” It’s her turn to laugh. I think for a moment, look down at her hand on the hood and her bare finger, then ask, “Would you rather tell me why you’re not wearing your ring anymore, or walk all the way back home?”
“Is that a threat?!” she wonders with a gasp, looking up at me.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I haven’t thought this through.”
She shakes her head, eyes on the setting sun before us, and thinks about what she’ll say next. “I’m not wearing the ring anymore because I gave it back to Nate.”
“You told him to get you a bigger one?”
“Ah-ha. No, I told him I couldn’t marry him anymore.”
If I weren’t so keenly aware of my body’s well-being, I might have worried about the way my heart slams against my ribs. But I’ve aced all of my physicals for as long as I can remember, so I don’t let it distract me from the meaning behind her words.
As casually as I can, I ask, “Why?”
She rips her attention away from the sky this time and stares at me instead. “Because it wouldn’t be fair to him.”
She doesn’t say more, but she doesn’t have to. I know what this means, as clear as day. What I don’t know is what to make of it. Does she want to try again with me? Is it why she’s here?
Refusing to get ahead of myself, I return my focus to the sunset. “Your turn,” I say.
It takes her an entire minute to think of the next question, and I use every ounce of strength I have not to look at her again. I’ll mess this up if I read her admission wrong, and I’d hate to ruin the moment.
“Would you rather we’d never met one another or keep living with this ache forever?” she asks in a small, conflicted voice.
My entire body prickles at her question. This isn’t a game anymore, and I’m immediately aware of it.
Now, that’s one cue really fucking hard to miss, isn’t it?