Page 146 of Where Roads Lead

“That’s just human stupidity.” He shrugged. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because you really were listening to me.”

“Of course I was,” he told me. “I like listening to you talk.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?”

“You like being alone.”

“I like being alone with you.”

“You like peace and quiet.”

“Your chatter is like white-noise to me.”

“Annoying and staticky?”

“Peaceful and relaxing.”

“Even when I’m asking you for help doing something stupid?”

“Especially then.”

“Will Hughes,” I stared into his eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, “where have you been all my life?”

“Waiting for you to find me, I guess,” he said so simply, but I had to bite my lip to stop the smile that his words caused.

“But now it’s my turn to ask,” he said, “where have you been? What was your life like before?”

“Oh.” I deflated, crawling off him and sitting back against the couch. “It was uneventful. Nothing noteworthy.”

“I doubt that.” He frowned. “Come on, humor me.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like I have a pretty good picture of who you are, I’m just missing the backstory component.”

“I don’t know, Will. I lived in Boston. I had a crappy apartment. My parents hated it. I had a crappy writing job. They hated that too.”

“Do you not get along with them?”

“Does anyone get along with their parents?”

“Yes?”

“Oh. Well, whatever.” I shrugged. “They’re fine.”

“Fine?”

“They just have certain ways of viewing the world,” I fumbled to explain. “A lot of our disconnect came from the fact that I had my own.”

“Doesn’t everyone have their own?”

“Not the people in their circle. That’s why they all get along with each other.” I picked at my nail, wishing we could talk about anything else other than my family.

I mean, I hadn’t even got into my Amelia Earhart spiel yet. Surely that was more interesting than the rundown of the Cameron family and their greatest disappointment: me.