I nodded my head like I could relate, when in reality I couldn't. My family had never wanted for anything. My grandfather made a name for himself in computer software before anyone realized how much computers would affect their lives. My father followed in his footsteps by designing computer programs before he even graduated from high school. Money was never an issue for me. I had gone to the best schools, hung out with the wealthiest of kids and went to the college of my choice. My life had been steeped in privilege. Of course, no amount of money can protect you from the harsh cards life can deal you.
"Do your parents still live there?" I finally asked when the silence between us stretched.
He shook his head. "No, my mom died a while back," he answered.
"I'm sorry," I said, resting my hand on top of his. "Mine died when I was ten," I added before I could stop myself.
"Ten? That's rough."
"Yeah, it was a tough time for me. She was so filled with life that it was almost like someone had snuffed out the sun when she died."
"How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked.
"Ovarian cancer. She was bad about going to doctors when she felt crummy. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. My dad took her to the hospital when she finally confessed something was wrong. She never came home," I said, trying to forget how my father had looked the night he had come home after she died. He'd looked like he'd been hit by a train. The light in his eyes went out that night and didn't return until many years later.
"Shit. I'm sorry," he said, flipping his hand over so he could lace his fingers through mine.
"It's life," I said, shrugging like it didn't matter even though her death had shaped the person I was. I often wondered if my life would have turned out differently if she was still alive.
"It sucks, plain and simple," he said, seeing through my lie.
"What about your dad?" I asked, changing the subject. I was surprised when his hand spasmed in mine before abruptly releasing it. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles turn white and his expression became unreadable. I was taken aback by the tension that radiated off of him.
"I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to the son of a bitch since he left my mom and me practically homeless so he could screw his secretary full-time," he clipped out. Silence filled the vehicle. I wondered indecisively if I should comment or change the subject.
"Fuck, whose idea was it to talk about family?" he asked wryly as some of the tension finally began to leave him.
"I think that honor falls on you," I said, smiling weakly at him.
"Well, that was a shitty idea. Let's talk about something more interesting."
"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "Did you always want to be a journalist?" I asked, taking charge of the conversation.
"Not really, I kind of fell into it. When I was younger, I wanted to be a cop. You know, catch the bad guys and save the day. When I was in high school, I discovered I was pretty good at writing. For a while, I entertained the idea of becoming an investigative journalist, but it never panned out. How about you?"
"You mean, did I always dream about working in some general store in the middle of nowhere?" I joked. "I actually wanted to be a children's psychologist in a hospital," I answered truthfully, ignoring the knots that had returned full force in my stomach.
"What changed?" he asked taking his eyes off the road long enough to peer at me.
"Life," I answered truthfully. "Sometimes life throws you a curveball and either you duck to avoid it, or you swing at it with all your might."
"Which option did you take?"
"Neither. I chose option three, which was to walk away."
"It's never too late to go back and swing," he said, pulling into the parking lot of quaint-looking Italian restaurant.
"I don't want to swing," I said, trying to keep my voice light.
"So, you plan on working at Fran's until you die?" he asked, sounding irritated.
"That’s not really any of your business is it, since this is supposed to be a no-attachments relationship?" I snapped.
"Hell, you're right. It's none of my business," he said, raking his fingers through his hair.
"Maybe a no-attachments relationship isn't possible. We can't seem to make it an hour without delving into no man's land," I said, staring out my window, waiting for him to start the vehicle back up and take me home. We'd have to chalk up the whole charade as a failure.
I jumped when Nathan opened his door and abruptly left the vehicle. He came around the Range Rover to my side. Opening the door, he stepped closer, unlatched my seatbelt and pivoted my legs around in the seat so they were straddling him where he stood. "We can figure this out," he said.