Page 57 of We Were Something
“Yeah, I already knew you were divorced,” I tell him, giving him an apologetic smile when he glances at me in surprise, my own words coming out just as quickly as his. “Sorry. Hermosa Beach gossip mill at work, you know? But I wanted to let you have a chance to share it, if you wanted to. Because not everyone wants to talk about the shitty parts of their life. So. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I already knew, but I’m also not sorry because youdidget to tell me yourself.”
There’s a long pause before Logan speaks again.
“How does ice cream sound to you?”
I nod, even though I usually only reserve ice cream for the random late nights in my kitchen when I need to stew about something.
“Sounds great.”
Logan pulls off the freeway and drives until we stop at a drive-thru ice cream bodega in La Brea, each of us getting a small cup. Then he pulls into a parking space at a daycare center across the street, the two of us just sitting in the dark as we eat our treats—chocolate fudge for him, rainbow sorbet for me.
“Jen and I were married for fourteen and a half years,” Logan says a while later, his tone taking on something sad and…maybe not wistful, but definitely with the hint of someone looking back on a tumultuous time.
I shift in my seat and lower my hands, focusing on him instead of the cup of sweetness I’m holding.
“I thought we were going to be together forever. I know nobody gets marriedassumingthey’ll get a divorce eventually, but when I say I thought Jen was it for me, I mean it.”
I swallow thickly, the sweet taste in my mouth suddenly too sugary.
“But over the years…I don’t know. Something changed.”
He scratches the back of his neck and stares out the windshield, almost like if he looks out there hard enough, he might find the answer he’s looking for.
“It wasn’t just her. I changed too. I got lost in my work, and she…”
He trails off then and looks over at me, shaking his head.
“Well, she wanted a life I couldn’t give her. So she went and found somebody whocould.”
The silence surrounding us in the car is thick and heavy, filled with a sadness that can only have been born from true pain.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, reaching out my hand and placing it over where his rests on the center console. “And you don’t…I mean, you don’t have to get into the details of it if you don’t want to. You haven’t really known me that long and…I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“I don’t,” he says, interrupting me. “I don’t feel pressured, Paige.” He turns his head and faces me.“It’s the strangest thing, really. I feel like I can talk to you about anything. Like Iwantto talk to you about everything. I’ve never had that before.”
I give him a soft smile and reach out, pressing my hand against the curve of his face, my thumb lightly stroking over his short beard.
“I know what you mean.”
Funnily enough, we don’t speak much after that. Logan collects our mostly eaten ice creams and throws them in a trash can outside the daycare. Then he drives us south, back to Hermosa, the two of us holding hands the entire way.
It’s strange, going on…well, I guess this was a date, kind of. A date to nowhere. I can’t remember Giroux and Ieverhaving conversations like the chats between Logan and me.
We used to chitchat mindlessly about friends, things in town, parties. He never told me his secrets, never shared with me the turmoil of his past—and we were together for five months, the longest relationship I’ve ever had.
In just the short time I’ve known of Logan Becker’s existence, I’ve learned more about him and his life and what matters to him than pretty much all of my exes combined.
In the past, it didn’t matter. I never wondered to myself whether or not a relationship might go anywhere serious. I always told myself it never would, so I never allowed myself to care about anything with true depth.
But now I’m wondering if I’ve been making a mistake.
Or maybe, not whether my actions in thepastwere a mistake, but if it would be a mistakenowto continue treating this thing with Logan just like every other relationship I’ve had. Especially when it feels like this connection between us is something…deeper. Something real.
Something true.
“So, I’ll see you Friday?”
“I’ll be there, two PM sharp.” I take his hand into mine. “But you know, you could always call me tomorrow. After work.”
