Page 11 of My Ex-Military Biker

He nods like "I don't know" is a reasonable answer to "are you hungry."

"When did you eat last?"

"This morning."

He looks at the clock on the wall. It's past seven now.

"You should eat something," he says.

He turns and walks into the kitchen.

I sit there processing the fact that he just told me what to do and I'm not irritated about it.

I stand up, the dress makes it harder than it should be, and I walk to the kitchen doorway.

He's pulling bread from a cabinet. Lunchmeat from the fridge. Cheese. Mustard. Making sandwiches with the same economical movements he uses for everything else.

"I left my wedding," I say.

He stops, setting the bread down and turning to face me.

I don't know why I said it. He didn't ask.

But standing here in his kitchen in this dress, the words just came out.

"About four hours ago," I continue. "I was standing at the end of the aisle and I just... walked away."

He looks at me for a long moment.

"Okay," he says.

Just that. Okay.

Then he goes back to making sandwiches.

I watch him work. He builds them efficiently.

"Why'd you do it?" he asks without looking up.

"I realized I'd never chosen any of it," I say.

He puts both plates on the table, then looks at me.

"Any of what?"

"Any of it. The wedding. The relationship. The job. The apartment. My whole life. I'd just been... executing. Like it was a project someone assigned me and I was trying to get a good grade."

I pause. He doesn't fill the silence. Just waits.

"And I was standing there holding flowers someone else picked, wearing a dress someone else chose, about to marry someone I said yes to because that was the next step in the sequence. And I just thought... I don't know if I want any of this."

"Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Want any of it."

The question hits different than I expected.