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“No. But I don’t, either. I guess we can figure out how to heat stuff in the oven together.”
Wren prepared a medley of things that were mostly from the freezer: pizza bagel bites, chicken nuggets, and sweet potato fries. She made two plates.
We took them to the living room and ate together on the floor by the fire. It was pretty amazing how this night, which had started as an awkward first date with a stranger, had turned into a pleasant surprise.
We played music, and Wren told me some stories about her childhood growing up in Boston. She listened with great interest as I talked about my business and explained how I invested millions of dollars of other people’s money every day, like a constant game of Monopoly. I soaked in every laugh, every smile. I felt twenty years old again, like being around her had tapped into my younger, more carefree self—the person I was before I lost my family, lost my wife, lost myself. For the first time in a long time, if only for one night, my troubles seemed lightyears away.
Wren
The sight of Dax in his glasses was even better than I’d anticipated. As he sat there humoring me, reading his book, I sat by his feet with my legs crossed. I grabbed a blanket as the fire roared and opened a novel I’d chosen off his shelf: The Things We Cannot Say. Even though historical fiction wasn’t my normal cup of tea, I wanted to spend this quiet time with him, joining him in one of his favorite hobbies. Hanging out like this was something I’d always fantasized about.
It was getting late. I knew this night would be over in a flash, but I wanted to cherish every second of it. “Will you tell me your story, Dax?”
He took his glasses off. “My story…”
“Yeah. Remember how I told you mine? Will you tell me yours in third person?”
I knew that was a tall order. But if not tonight, then when would I have a chance to hear it? My chest tightened at that thought.
He closed his book. “I thought tonight was supposed to be about fun…”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I don’t want to upset you or ruin the mood. I would just love to know more about Moody. You’ve only told me bits and pieces, and I want to know everything.”
To my surprise, he set his book aside and got up from the chair. “I might need some wine, then.”
My hopes were officially up. Did he just agree?
“Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve made it this far without wine,” I teased.
He ventured into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of red and two glasses.
“You’re the only one who could get me to do this, you know that?” He sighed. “You’re gonna have to bear with me because I don’t think I can tell my story as seamlessly as you told yours. I might have many more pauses.”
“That’s perfectly fine.” I smiled. “There are no rules.”
He settled into his chair, and I once again sat by his feet.
“Okay…” He took a long drink before he started. “So…Dax Moody was the oldest son of three boys born to Alexander and Mona Moody. His childhood was pretty uneventful. There was nothing particularly bad or traumatic, which he’s grateful for. His life in the Catskills—New Paltz, New York, to be exact—was quite privileged. His family was wealthy, and Dax never wanted for anything. But his father was unloving, constantly working. And while his mother did the best she could to hold the family together, she seemed to live in fear of her husband. Mona always did whatever Alexander wanted, even if it was against her best judgment. She didn’t seem to have a mind of her own or a backbone. Dax was fairly close to his brothers, Mitch and Stephen. The three of them had each other’s backs—or so Dax thought at the time.”
He took a moment, seeming to ponder what to say next. I waited until he finally continued.
“Dax had one girlfriend throughout high school but broke her heart when he ended things soon after they went to separate colleges. He wanted a fresh start at Syracuse and hadn’t wanted to hold either of them back. It was probably the most mature decision he’d ever made, though she never forgave him for it. Kayla became depressed and eventually started taking pills. She’d call Dax from school in Pennsylvania in a drug-induced haze, swearing a lot and blaming him for her depression. Thank God she eventually got clean after college. But Dax would often blame himself for the years she was hooked on drugs. If something had happened to her, he would’ve never forgiven himself.”
He turned to me, his face reflecting shame. I reached for his hand to offer support.
