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But the more time I spent with him, the more I began to realize that age truly was just a number. That he was wise beyond his years.
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
“She is…” He beamed a genuine smile, the affection he held for her obvious. “Or was.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered. “I didn’t mean… I guess I’m breaking one of our terms. The whole no sob story thing.”
“My mother isn’t sob story territory. Do I miss her? Absolutely. But she’s not the reason I…” He trailed off.
“Put up walls,” I finished, knowing exactly what that was like.
He simply shrugged, neither confirming nor denying my assessment.
After a protracted pause, I asked, “Have you found it?”
“What’s that?”
“Your inner happiness.”
He worried his bottom lip, toiling over his response. When he peered at me, there was something hardened in his eyes. An endless shadow. An unrelenting truth.
“I learned a long time ago that happiness isn’t in the cards for everyone. That some people don’t deserve happiness.”
“You don’t think you deserve to be happy?” I pressed, picking up on the hidden meaning in his words.
“I know I don’t.”
“What makes you say that? I—”
“Believe me. The less you know about me, the better off you’ll be. If you knew all the shite I’ve done, you’d probably regret the day we met.”
He pierced me with an intense stare.
I wasn’t sure what was sadder about what he’d just shared.
That there was a story behind his statement.
Or that he fully believed it to be true.
What happened in his past that made him think such a thing?
