He slides his hand over Wendy’s, threading their fingers together. “I can hear my father’s voice in this room. Do you know his favorite saying?” We don’t, so we say nothing. “’You are the bane of my existence.” He bows his head again. “From the moment I was born, he twisted my name into an insult.” “Your name?” I ask, desperate to possess it but terrified of the implications. He’s hidden his name for a reason. Because I suspect he doesn’t like it. Possessing it would mean holding a part of him he’d rather not share. The intimacy of that fact is one that cannot be denied. His eyes pop open and
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In hindsight I should have seen that coming.
