Connor doesn’t elaborate. He watches me for a beat before looking back out the window.
I lean my head against the glass, unsure what to say to that. It’s not a bad observation. It feels like more than I expected from someone who’s mostly existed in my periphery until now.
“You don’t talk much either,” I say.
“I talk enough.”
“Is this a competition?”
“Only if I’m ahead, obviously.”
That earns him a smile.
The train speeds up, gliding past a patch of farmland and a field of yellow wildflowers like the ones we have back in my hometown, except these look more distinguished—definitely European because it’s like they’re classy. I could take a picture, send it to my best friend from back home, Martina, so that she can get her husband, Jacinto, to grow these for her, but it feels better to just look. To keep this moment to myself.
“Can I ask you som—” he says.
“How’s work?” I blurt at the same time.
We both pause, then laugh, the sound spilling out too loud for the quiet of the train car.
“You first,” I say quickly, waving a hand for him to go on. It's a basic question, definitely making small talk, but something I’ve seen so many people do in these types of situations before. It’s polite, I think, and breaks up the silence of the whole scene.
He leans back against the seat, considering. “It’s… fine. Busy.”
The words come out steady, but there’s weight behind them. For a second, I don’t know what to say because it’s the most standard answer anyone can give. Almost like being busy is something you should be proud of. It’s also, I notice, the most words we’ve ever exchanged in the three years since I’ve been in New York, and I don’t hate it one bit. Even if it sounds rehearsed, scripted.
The train slows a little as we pass a cluster of green hills dotted with chalets, and a local train station is a blur outside the window. He turns slightly towards it, his knee brushing mine. It’s casual. Probably accidental. But I feel it all the way in my bones.
“I’m glad for the time off,” he adds after a second. Connor’s eyes move from my eyes to my neck and linger on the crescent moon pendant I’m wearing, partially visible among my hair. “And we’re actually required to take a two-week break every year because of…” He trails off and gestures with his hand. “Boring regulation stuff. So no one will be contacting me.” A faint smile. “Which is my favorite part.”
There’s a beat where I’m not sure what to say, so I match his smile. The train hums beneath us.
“Me too,” I say, soft but steady. “Glad for the time off, I mean.”
Connor leans back again, clearing his throat. “Alright. Your turn.”
“For what?”
“To ask something inappropriate.”
“Connor,” I say with a smile on my face. I’m starting, finally, to feel tired and drowsy, the adrenaline of the flight over and the mixture of everything slowly fading. I imagine my expression is sleepy and somewhat unhinged. “I already asked a question. And it was not inappropriate, thank you very much. Extremely polite.”
He laughs, a hearty laugh that makes his body shake. He crosses one leg over his knee in that classic man pose and looks at me, a crinkle in both his eyes.
“I don’t have any inappropriate questions.”
“Liar.”
I think for a moment, hum to myself. I desperately want to ask about his girlfriend—the one who’s usually glued to his side at every social function we’ve ever overlapped at—but that feels completely out of bounds. We’re friends. Or close acquaintances in the same orbit. Either way, it’s not my place.
“She’s not coming,” he finally says, eyes fixed on the window, tracking the blur of trees and fields and rolling hills just outside. “In case you were wondering.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage, taken aback. I noticed her absence from the social events where we’d see each other this year, sure, but assumed it was a fluke, with the summer keeping a lot of us busy. I didn’t expect him to name it.
He glances at me, then away. “Yep.”
There’s the noncommittal shrug again. The one shoulder lift that’s so easy to miss. Except it’s not. It’s the kind of shrug that hides something sharp underneath, like the full story is heavier than he wants to carry out loud.
