Page 10 of Before I Say I Don't
Roman nodded like he understood every word I didn’t say.
“You always did the most… but it always paid off.”
“Yes, it does.”
Silence settled, not awkward, but the kind familiar where the table held an old friendship steady while new awareness climbs up on top of it and learns to balance.
Our food arrived moments later. The waitress placed his salmon in front of him with a flourish, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an all-too-familiar gesture from women hoping to be remembered. Roman thanked her graciously, but he didn’t bother to ask her name. Instead, he focused intently on me, as if the rest of the bustling restaurant had fallen away.
“What about you?” I interrogated, eager to shift the focus and anchor myself to something safe. “Investigations sounds… intense. What does a typical work day look like for you?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes it’s spreadsheets and interviews in stuffy conference rooms; sometimes it’s hopping on a plane to another time zone to ask the same question from different angles. Mostly, it’s about earning people’s trust enough for them to share their truths.” He cut into the salmon, savoring each bite before continuing. “I like the puzzle; I don’t like what the puzzle costs people.”
“It’s funny… we chose different sides of the same coin. You dig until something gives, and I build until something holds.”
He tilted his head. “You always were a builder.”
“And you always were a breaker,” I countered, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks. “I mean—breaker of lies… of barriers… of?—”
He grinned, the corner of his lips lifting in the way I remembered from our college days.
“I’ll take it.”
As we continued to eat, our conversation flowed effortlessly. We reminisced about professors who still stumbled over names and judges who had an irrational disdain for adjectives. He teased me about the way I color-coded my outlines while Ireminded him of that late-night study session when we pushed through until three a.m., ordered pizza, and he fell asleep face down in a casebook that left “RESTATEMENT (SECOND) OF TORTS” backwards on his cheek for an hour—an image I could never forget. We settled into an easy rhythm, laughter punctuating the air as we revisited shared memories.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, tracing a line of condensation on my glass with my thumb.
“Anything.”
“Is there a… special person in your life?” I kept my voice light and my eyes on his mouth because it was safer than looking into his eyes. “I don’t see a ring.”
Roman held my gaze like it was a contract he was willing to sign in ink.
“No ring means no one who’d be upset to see me at lunch with such a beautiful lady.” He took a breath. “Although… there is someone I haven’t stopped thinking about,” he added carefully. “We met years ago. Timing was trash. Neither of us really expressed our feelings to one another. I left. Life happened. She deserves… every good thing.”
The words landed in my chest and spread heat, shame, longing, and the kind of complicated emotion I couldn’t name in polite company.
I knew then thatIwas that special person. All of what Roman said was true, too.
“Oh,” I said, barely audible.
I looked down at my empty soup bowl studying it like there might be a map in the swirls that could guide me through this moment.
“I’m happy for you, Kam. Truly,” he expressed quickly and sincerely.
“Thank you.”
We lingered over the last sips of our drinks like prolonging the moment might slow time back to a pace that didn’t make my head light.
“I should get back,” I announced finally, my voice steady, even though my body disagreed.
Roman nodded once, a subtle agreement to a reality neither of us had chosen, one that hung between us like an unsaid confession.
With a swift motion, he reached for the check before I could react, sliding his card into the black leather folder without a hint of reluctance, and he didn’t bother pretending to argue about it.
Once Roman got his card back, we left and then stepped out onto the sidewalk together. For a fleeting moment, we stood there, caught in that awkward pause strangers share when they’re unsure whether to hug or wave—though we weren't strangers at all, and that was the problem.
“This was…” I began, searching for the right words to encapsulate the bittersweet nature of our reunion.
