Page 2 of It's a Date (Again)

TheWALKsignal turns again, and cars steadily pass through the intersection. We’re in a city of nearly three million, surrounded by people—but right now, it feels like only Hank and I exist. A city bus honks as a car nearly merges into its lane. The car swerves back, and traffic continues without a hiccup. I divert my attention to Hank.

“Oh.” He raises his brow and runs his fingers down the sides of his jaw. “I see what’s going on here.”

“What do you see?” I ask, hoping I can see whatever it is he can.

Hank talks with his hands as if he’s giving a lecture of some sort. It reminds me of my dad, and I find it both endearing and comforting. “This man told you he loved you. You told him you didn’t love him back. Now you’re here crying on a street corner. I know I didn’t make you cry, or at least I hope I didn’t. This beautiful fall night didn’t make you cry. That man that told you he loved you didn’t make you cry. So it must be what you said back.”

A hiccup escapes me like I swallowed something I wasn’t ready for—perhaps the truth. I blink several times, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. I know what he’s getting at, but sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you because you’re looking through it.

“I just told him how I felt,” I say with a shrug.

“Did you?”

“Yeah.” It comes out high-pitched and loud as though I’m trying to convince him and maybe myself too.

“Did that truth come from your heart or your brain?” he asks.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Not at all.” He lifts his chin. “The heart loves. The brain thinks. And sometimes, the two don’t agree. My wife was twelve years older than me when we met. I was twenty-six. She was nearly forty. My heart loved her, but my brain needed some convincing. Damn thing didn’t think it was a good idea to love a woman more than a decade older thanme. It tried to get in the way. Tried to tell me I should be with someone my own age. Someone that would live as long as I did. Someone I could have a big family with. But the heart wants what the heart wants. I got nearly forty perfect years with that woman. We didn’t have children, but we had each other, and that was more than enough. Just like my brain had warned, she did pass before me, around two years ago from cancer. We drained our savings and lost the house trying to keep up with the medical bills, but it wasn’t enough.” He pulls his chin in.

“I’m so sorry, Hank.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. Sure, I’m alone now, but I lived a hell of a good life with her, and I wouldn’t change it, not none of it. Even though my brain sometimes tries to make me regret my choices, that love in my heart is so much stronger, and it alone will carry me to my next life. So, to answer your question, Peyton—no, the brain and the heart aren’t the same thing.” There are tears in his eyes by the time he finishes speaking, and the tears in mine have more than doubled. Now I’m crying for the both of us.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I’m an incredibly lucky man. Don’t look like it.” He gestures to himself with a laugh. “But I am.”

“How’d you know the difference?” I ask.

“Between what?”

“Your heart and your brain?”

“Why’d you tell that man you didn’t love him?” he asks.

I bite my lower lip, trying to think up a reason, but I’m struggling to find the right answer.Why did I tell him that?“Because ...” I fiddle with my fingernails. They’re freshly manicured and painted a light pink.

“Because why?” he presses.

“Because I didn’t want to get hurt, I think.”

“You think?” Hank lifts his brows. “That don’t sound like your heart talking.”

“I ... I didn’t want it to end.”

“You didn’t want it to end, so you never let it start?”

“I ... I ... don’t know.” My head falls slightly forward, and I exhale.

“It sounds like you let your brain make this decision, and your heart is the one crying because of it. Trust me, Peyton, it’s better to live with a broken heart than to never let anyone into it in the first place. Mine has been split down the middle for the past two years, but I still have both halves.”

Tears escape my eyes in a steady, uncontrolled stream. “But what if—”

“But what if nothing,” Hank interrupts. “The heart don’t ask what if. The heart just does. Like when I asked you for help. You didn’t hesitate. You gave me those few dollars without even thinking. Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You asked for something, and I had it, so I gave it to you.”

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