“Now, neither of us is alone, and I don’t think I’m the type of guy that is meant to be alone.” Paul smiles, and I try to convince myself I’m only staying to talk as a courtesy to him. It’s not like I need this. “Let’s talk about our wives,” he says as he bends over and picks up the box of tacos. For some reason, Paul’s bluntness about being widowed is comforting. For once, it’s nice to have someone to talk to that understands a little of how I feel.
