Knox
We pull into a Conoco station.
“Just friends, huh?” I say.
“Just friends. Okay, your turn.”
“Cal and I were also just friends.”
Sylvie slaps her knee and gives an exaggerated guffaw as she gets out. “Knox! That’s so funny. But seriously, your turn to spill about your romantic history.”
I get out and walk around to where she’s pumping gas. “You didn’t just spill about your romantic history. In fact, you did the exact opposite.”
“Well, then I’m asking you to do the exact opposite of what I did. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
I hadn’t expected the question to be turned back on me, even though that was maybe the most likely outcome of my nosing around. Time to stall. “My romantic history. Wow. Okay. Where to start.”
The gas pump clicks off. “Hold that thought,” Sylvie says. “I’m gonna run in and pee. Will you take Winslow to go do his business while I’m in there?”
“Sure.” I leash up the dog and take him over to a grassy patch beside the station to relieve himself.
Meanwhile, I’m furiously gaming out scenarios in my mind.
If I tell her the truth, which is that I’ve never had a girlfriend or been in love, will that be a red flag of some kind?
Or will that make me seem like an exciting uncharted land to explore?
A blank journal in which to write a new story?
I already feel bad about how I’ve held back parts of my life from Sylvie to try to present a more normal face.
Do I dare pile on more omissions or outright lies?
I’m going to buckle under the weight. The whole point of leaving my old life behind was to try to live in a way more authentic to myself.
Sylvie comes back out and assumes Winslow duty while I take a few more minutes to dip in and use the facilities and keep mulling things over in my mind. When I come out, Sylvie’s pulled the van up in front of the door and I hop in.
“Ready?” Sylvie says.
“Yep.”
We get back on the interstate.
“So, my romantic history.”
“Waiting with bated breath.”
“What if I told you I had none.”
“None?”
“Nothing to speak of. I’ve never had a serious relationship.”
“You’re not aro are you?”
“Aro?”
“Aromantic. It’s where you don’t have romantic attraction to other people.”
“Oh yeah, no, I definitely experience romantic feelings.” I’m hoping I didn’t say that too enthusiastically.
“But you haven’t ever had a serious relationship?”
I stare out the window for a few beats, letting the silence unspool, trying to decide if the one story I have is worth telling. I go for it. “Five days when I was fourteen.”
“Your longest relationship was five days?”
“We moved around too much. I met her when we were picking avocados together in California.”
“What was her name?”
“Isabela. She was from Mexico.”
“And that was a serious relationship?”
“I mean, no. We kissed three times. But the closest I’ve got.”
“Did you love her?”
“I said it wasn’t a serious relationship.”
“In terms of duration,” Sylvie says. “But maybe in terms of feeling. Do you wish you’d gotten more time with her?”
“Honestly, I didn’t let myself even entertain the idea. I knew how temporary it was, like everything in my life.”
“How about now? Are you going to let yourself entertain the idea?”
“Of course, for the right person. I wish I’d gotten more time with Isabela.”
“What would your right person be like?”