Page 22 of Joy
“Only in the beginning,” I said. “You know, I was pissed about the cars. Your silence can be construed as something else.”
“I’m sorry. You should have said something.”
“There was no reason to. I’m not sticking around very long.”
But as soon as I said that, Silas’s expression sort of dropped and my gut did too, like during a sudden loop on a roller coaster that I wasn’t prepared for.
What the fuck, right?
But… I could stay longer than what it took to fix the cars, couldn’t I? It wasn’t like I had a life to rush back to in LA.
“Anyway,” I said quickly. “Sorry. I think you’re a good guy now. And a great kisser.”
“I’m glad.”
I pointed at the stove. “Can I help?”
“No. Sit down.” He nodded at the kitchen table before picking up the pot and moving to scoop the contents into the bowls set out.
“What is this?” I asked, sitting.
“American chop suey.”
“Huh?”
“Tomato sauce, hamburger—er, ground beef—onion, elbow noodles.”
“Sounds like spaghetti that tried and gave up.”
Silas smiled and nodded. “Guess so.”
“Is this like the other food you eat?”
Silas put the pot back and sat, looking at me with a curious expression from across the table.
“New England comfort food,” I clarified.
He shrugged. “Mama was picky too. She made this a lot.” Silas took a few big bites before asking, “Why were you driving through New Hampshire?”
“I’m in the middle of a midlife crisis.”
“You’re not middle-aged.”
“No, I’m twenty-five. Just getting it out of the way now.”
Silas gave me a concerned look that was oddly touching. “Because of the apprenticeship?”
“No. Well. I guess,” I said, pushing my food around with a fork. “I was heading to Maine and was going to turn around and drive back to California. I just had to get away from everything and think. I’m a grownass man and I feel like I’ve done nothing worthwhile with my life. And the people I surrounded myself with… there was a constant need to be better than everyone. It was depressing. I couldn’t breathe. It was a physical knot of anxiety, so I had to get away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I should be sorry. You don’t need to know all of this crap.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk,” Silas said. “Get it out of your system.”
“Says the guy who’s great at the stoic silence,” I teased.
Silas shifted in his chair and glanced between me and his food. “But I talk when I need to.” He went back to eating.
