Page 2 of Absolution

“I’ve been in elevators bigger than this,” I say.

Kyle gives me a look. “Still better than a middle seat.”

Fair. I stretch my legs as far as they’ll go, which isn’t much. He shifts, awkward. There’s no way to not be in each other’s space.

“Well,” I say, “if I snore, just kick me.”

He finally smiles. “Noted.”

The train jerks once, then starts rolling, humming beneath us like a lullaby wrapped in engine noise. We sit in silence for a few minutes, the kind that isn't uncomfortable yet. Just new.

Then he speaks. “Why do you have aggression?”

I turn and raise an eyebrow.

“Earlier,” he says, “you mentioned pent-up aggression. Why?”

I study him. He’s not smirking. Just asking. I debate for a second, then say, “Did you believe in the 2012 end-of-the-world crap?”

He laughs. “No. Did you?”

I shake my head. “My boyfriend did. Well, ex-boyfriend.” I let that hang for a second. “I celebrated New Year’s with my family, flew in to surprise him yesterday. Turns out, genius figured if the world was ending, he might as well get high and join a week-long orgy.”

Kyle blinks. “Eesh.”

“Yeah.”

“You dumped him?”

“Call me crazy, but I think I could forgive murder before I forgive cheating.”

He looks at me like he’s reassessing something. “Wow. I commend that.”

I shrug, then smile. “So, what’s this job you’re starting?”

He straightens a little. “Junior associate at Grey, Bishop & Associates. In Austin.”

I nod like I’ve heard of them. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I was a public prosecutor before this. Let’s just sayLaw & Ordermakes it look way more fun than it actually is.”

I laugh. “So not as much cool lighting and dramatic cross-examinations?”

“Way more paperwork. And no one yellsObjection!like that in real life.”

I smile, settling deeper into my seat. Outside, the city’s starting to blur into night and ice. Inside, it feels weirdly safe for a moving box with two strangers in it.

“Here’s to new jobs,” I say, lifting my water bottle.

He taps his against mine. “And to not getting murdered by your train roommate.”

“Cheers to that.”

The train rolls into the night, the city giving way to frozen countryside, snow-covered fields blurring past the window. Inside, it’s all soft hum and muted yellow light. Our little sleeper room sways gently with every turn of the tracks.

For a while, we just talk.

He tells me about law school in Michigan, the cold winters, terrible coffee, one professor who made everyone cry. I tell him about my dad’s stroke last fall, how I deferred college to help my mom take care of him. We trade stories like we’re playing poker, one honest card at a time.

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