He studies me and I notice when his gaze drops to my mouth and back to my eyes. “I think,” he says slowly, drawing the words out like syrup, “your face is saying something that you’re not ready to put into words. So I’ll wait.” He stands up from his seat and takes our empty dishes to the sink. The sound of the faucet running makes it so that I don’t have to say anything. I’m glad for the distance because he’s right. I’m at a complete loss for words.
