Page 82 of More Than Water
“No,” Foster says, giving Lilliana a stern look, shaking his head. “It’s fine.”
“Forget about it,” Graham continues as convincingly as possible. “Let’s get a drink.”
Foster removes the glasses from his face, mindlessly wiping the lenses clean with the bottom of his shirt. “Maybe it’s best that I go.”
“Because of Fiona? No, dude. Stay. The night is still young.”
“Nah.” He returns the frames to his face. “It’s for the best.” Foster peers at me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.” I nod my head, understanding that his need to leave is not to be questioned. Pivoting toward Graham, I say, “Thank you so much for having me. It was great.”
“Anytime, EJ,” Graham replies. “Come by anytime. And you two drive safe.”
“We will,” Foster answers for both of us. “I’ll see you in class in a few days.”
The men nod to one another, and then Foster turns on his heel, creating a path among the remaining guests with me following close behind. We wordlessly make our way through the house and out the front door to where Foster’s car is parked at the curb. I let myself into the passenger side as he rounds the hood and then takes a seat behind the wheel before starting the ignition.
It’s a silent drive along the vacant streets on the early morning of this New Year’s Day. Foster, completely in his own mind and understandably so, keeps his head forward and on the road ahead, never even sparing me a sideways glance.
I don’t ask any questions. I don’t say a word. There’s a time to be quiet, and this is one of them because all sound is just white noise when inner thoughts are the only language one can comprehend.
When he pulls up to the front of my apartment building with the car running, not finding a place to park, it’s clear that we will not be spending the rest of the evening together.
I unfasten my seat belt, gather my purse, and grab the handle to exit.
“EJ?” Foster says as I’m about to open the door. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it. I had a nice time, and your friends are great.” I release my hold on the lever and settle back into my seat. “Are you okay though? I kind of got the hint that something was going on between you and Fiona.”
“It was that obvious?” he asks rhetorically.
“That you two used to go out? Yeah, it’s pretty clear. She wasn’t too thrilled about the way things ended, was she?”
“It was just bad timing.” He stares ahead, out the windshield. “Me and relationships don’t mix. She’s proof of that. I was very…unavailable for her.”
“Well, you’re really busy,” I remind him, thinking of all his extracurricular activities and studies. “I still don’t know how you manage to do it all.”
He laughs softly to himself. “My busyness is a more recent thing. I took up all those activities, including the library job, so I wouldn’t have time to think aboutheranymore.”
“Fiona?”
Foster shuts his lids. “No. Sasha, my ex.”
I wait for him to say something more. The hum of the running car is the only sound filling the silence. Leaning my head against the warm fabric seat, I observe his features while the stillness echoes. They aren’t tortured or even overly hurt but muted, like the name Sasha somehow resonates a form of emotions vetted so deep into his being that a scar remains.
“How long ago did you two break up?” I finally ask, realizing he might need a little nudging.
Men aren’t known for spilling their guts. It’s like their penises block some forms of speech.
“A little more than a year.” He smiles to himself, contemplating. “You don’t want to hear about this.”
“I don’t mind.” I adjust my positioning so that I’m facing him a little better. “You listen to my crap all the time. You can certainly tell me some of yours. And if you’d like, we could slam our exes together, calling them nasty names while eating ice cream.”
He chuckles. “And paint each other’s toenails?”
“Yes, and watch really crappy romance movies.”
“Sounds like one hell of an evening.”