Page 77 of The Replay

"You're really lucky. Your friends are incredible. You have something special with them."

He gets quiet. I stare at his profile.

He squeezes the steering wheel on and off. "I know."

"I never had that. Never have. Moving around so much growing up. As an adult, too." My brow wrinkles. "I stayed the longest in London with Henry but even during that time, I don't think I made friends or built a family like you have made for yourself."

"I thought you're fine with your parents. Your siblings."

I shrug. "I love them and they love me, and they're my family— how I came to be in this world. But you know how it was. How it is. I barely spent time with some of my siblings growing up. We didn't have a home. I know I'm incredibly privileged that I can say I had houses to go to, to spend time in, to travel freely to. And it's also true that it made me… rootless. Disconnected even from the people who I meant to connect with most deeply. Maybe that's why I'm trying so hard to avoid conflict with them. I don't want to have them even less."

"Mari," he sighs.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm in a contemplative mood."

"Don't apologize."

"Is it possible to be nostalgic of things you've never had? Seeing your friends was such a wake up call, in a way."

"Yeah. Same."

"Yeah?" I gaze at him.

The windshield wipers work hard as he drives through the darkened city. No one walks on the streets, with a mix of the late hour and the weather keeping people in their homes.

He nods. "They're so in love it's hard not to think about love. Connection. That village feeling."

"But you have your village."

He nods again, but it seems different somehow.

"And I had love, once," he says in a low, low voice.

He doesn't look at me, but I don't need to see his eyes to understand. He's been considering love, friendship, and community all night. Despite how good he's always been at those things.

Meanwhile, I've never been good at relationships. Of any kind. To this day, I can't wrap my head around how Dom and I ended up falling in love, when we knew it would end.

"Remember our first kiss?" I ask.

"Of course."

We went for coffee then he walked me to my condo. We didn't want to stop talking, so we stayed outside at the park in front of my building. The chat lasted through the evening and into the night. Until there were no cars passing by, and most people made it home. He could have pushed to get an invite into my place but didn't. When I finally admitted I should be in bed, he walked me to the building door and gave me a gentle, sweet kiss.

Nothing had ever tasted as good as his tongue against mine. His smell bathed my mind. For as long as his lips pressed mine, life didn't feel like a battle. It felt like a promise. I had never experienced a kiss like that before.

"Let's do that again," he said that night.

We did. Coffee dates, walking dates, and study dates at the library. Such a sweet, gentle way to get to know each other, making room for each others' million responsibilities, and misusing the study rooms whenever running to one of our rooms wasn't possible.

My chest feels raw, thinking of how easily I gave my heart to him.

I stare out the windshield. "I don't think I could be that free again, that reckless, knowing what I know today. After everything you and I went through, and my marriage and just life I guess. So when I look at your friends I see the stark difference in the choices they've made. They're willing to do anything for what they feel, when I have never done the same. I think it means I've believed my parents the whole time— about everything. I've put love at the bottom of the list of things I want to fight for. Except I know what it cost me back in college and I don't think I want to pay that price again. So I guess I can't ever just… fall."

He sighs. At the red light, he drops his head back to the headrest.

"Jesus, Mariana." He shakes his head, eyes straight forward to the road. "With the rain drying in your hair, your skin, your clothes… I can smell you ten different ways from here. Your shampoo. Your perfume. Hell, your moisturizer. I don't know."

"And?"