The Chair in the Center of the Table
I sat quietly with my hands in my lap, still smelling the cheap dish soap from the kitchen. Nathan drove without speaking. He wasn’t calm. I knew him well enough to notice the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the wheel.
“I should have gotten there sooner,” he finally said.
I shook my head. “You arrived when I was finally ready to leave.”
“I didn’t know they were that cruel.”
I stared out the window. We passed crowded restaurants, couples sharing umbrellas, families leaving dinner together. For some people, belonging somewhere looked so easy.
“I didn’t want to know either,” I said.