He gave an unbothered shrug. "I realized jet engines were interesting too."
I tucked my hair over my ears as I tried to process this. The Jude I used to know was obsessed with cars and motorcycles. He taught himself how to rebuild a transmission in the garage downstairs. His motorcycle had been a labor of junkyard love. "That's what you do? You work on jet engines? Like, airplanes or…space shuttles?"
He folded his forearms on the table. A few wavy strands of hair fell over his forehead though he didn't bother pushing them away. It bothered me that I thought about pushing those strands away myself. "Let me make this easy for you since you're obviously struggling."
"Is that how we're going to do this? I could've sworn you said last night that you wanted to talk—and I thought we were doing that—but it seems like you just want to kick verbal rocks at me every few minutes."
"Don't worry about it, Saunders. I can do both." That patronizing tone soaked all the way through his words. "I work in jet propulsion. Specializing in thrust."
I wasn't positive but it seemed like he said that with his whole penis.
A server appeared beside the table, a loaded tray in hand, before I could unload something savage and blowtorch-y inresponse. "All right, all right. I've got an iced coffee, light and sweet, iced hibiscus tea shaken with blackberry puree, one toasted morning glory muffin, oneuntoasted sweet potato chai muffin, and a bowl of animal crackers. Is there anything else you fine folks might need this morning?"
"We're good," he said, the low rumble of his voice loosening a lock in the back of my mind. "Thanks."
I pressed my fingers to my lips. I could feel him watching me as I blinked at the mismatched dishes and old mason jars but I couldn't pull together words or even solid syllables, as though I'd traveled back in time.
The spell broke when Jude swirled a metal straw through his coffee, the ice clanking hard against the glass. He nodded at the goods between us, asking, "Do you want something else?"
"No. No, this is fine," I managed, though it sounded like I was in the bottom of a well. "Thank you—for remembering."
"Yeah." His gaze followed my hand as I reached for the tea. When I lifted it to my lips, he looked away. Cleared his throat. Then, "I started out working on fighter jets after grad school. Bounced between all the major aeronautics and defense contracting firms. Spent months, years even, on air force bases and naval air stations. Took some time off from that a few years back because I realized—among other things—I don't like being part of bombing the shit out of people. I played around with starting a doctoral program but then I remembered how much I hated all the bullshit hierarchy in grad school. There was a minute where I thought about going back to basics and looking after a fleet of planes and vehicles for a private security firm but circumstances changed and it turned out that wasn't the opportunity I thought it would be."
Jude stared at me as he took a deep pull from his coffee and I couldn't escape the sense that I was supposed to hear something he wasn't saying.
"I still work with the big aeronautics and defense firms but as an independent contractor. I have some breathing room in my schedule now, which is a big help, and I only take on the projects that interest me. These days, I work mostly on fixed-wing aircraft and helicopters developed for Coast Guard use."
"Oh, wow. That's?—"
"Yeah, it's fascinating." He crossed his arms over his chest. "About that husband of yours."
"Ex-husband," I said automatically.
A harsh smile cut across his face. "You're damn right."
I didn't like talking about my ex. I went out of my way to avoid thinking about him. Being reminded that marrying him was the compromise that cost me everything made me want to burrow into the earth and live out my days in a dark hole. My ability to dig into those memories was shaky on the best of days but today all I could find were badly healed scars, tight and inflexible and splitting as they flexed over joints.
"I understand why you'd want to gloat," I started, "but believe me when I say I don't need anyone reminding me of my mistakes. I can do that all on my own."
"Is that what you think?" Jude eyed me, his brows low like he had to squint to see me properly.
"I don't know what else I should think." It hurt to speak, as if my throat was swollen shut from the memory of Jude pleading with me to run away from my wedding. Shame rolled inside me, all broken glass and boiling heat. All these bad decisions, all piled up around me. "It seems like you're just waiting to sayI told you so."
He trailed a finger around the rim of his mason jar, his solemn gaze locked on me. "I'm not." He glanced away. "I didn't want to be right. About any of it." His eyes caught mine for a second and then they were gone again. "I'm sorry that I was."
I nodded and ripped the top off the chai muffin. "Okay."
Silence enveloped us for a minute and I could feel the dust settling. I didn't understand the ground we'd covered but I didn't feel like it was a trap when he asked, "You're in Boston now?"
"Yeah. I teach fourth and fifth grade and live a little ways outside the city."
"Only ballet? Or all kinds of dance?"
"No, no," I said, laughing. "I'm an elementary school teacher. Reading, writing, math, social studies. No dance."
His lips parted and I saw disappointment flash across his face. I couldn't put my finger on exactly why his reaction said more than any fine-tipped comment could. It left me feeling exposed, like he'd read the summary of my years since leaving him in that church and found it full of stale cheese and dead houseplants.
"What do you mean,no dance?" he asked.
