“So I have an admission,” she says. Her eyes stay on the road. My eyes stay on her. She glows warmly in the late afternoon sun.
“What's that?” Despite her angelic aura, she's stiff in her seat, her hands gripping the wheel. Her demeanor doesn't match the languidity of the moment, the relaxed haze that embraces so many of my moments with her.
“You know the Gogol Bordello concert? The one we're both going to?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“So Patrick bought tickets for my roommate and me.”
“He didn't know that me and my roommate were broken up. So apparently we're all going together.”
“It might be better if you weren't there.” She winces as she says it.
“That's ok,” I say.
For the first time in what feels like minutes, she glances at me. In the reflection on her glasses, the ones she plucked from my collection, I can see that I look calmer than I feel.