“You know the other night she asked me wouldn’t it be fun if you came over?

I told her, ‘We’ll be going to bed soon.’

She said, ‘I know. Just for an hour or two.’

We were both in bed before 9 o’clock.  That’s how the two of us live it up.”

It was dark and we were headed home.  I watched the pavement rush under the headlights and said little.  I wanted to tell her how much the story meant to me, but I didn’t.  We hadn’t been dating long.  I was trying to keep my heart together.  It had been ten years.  In the end I changed the subject and deflected.

The week had began with the two of them bringing pizza out.  Her daughter was tall, kept her long hair in a ponytail, and sported a headband to keep watch for stragglers.  She made me think of how her mother must have looked when she was that age.

The girl spoke like lightning, with words coming hard and quick.  The subjects they described were a free for all.  She spoke of softball, school, her plans on life, her mother, and the dogs.  She freely gave her opinion on anything I asked and reigned over all of it as daylight rained through my picture window.

As she spoke I snuck glances at her mother, and between the two of them I got a glimpse of the way others must live.  For a moment, the place and time were right.  In this world that is something, and there are no guarantees.

I marveled at the way the girl so fearlessly divulged her hopes and dreams.  Her mother and my words came in starts and stops, as we cycled through what was broken, doubled down on that which was guarded, and found the right ones elusive.  Age does funny things I suppose.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?  When were you happiest?”

“The day I first held my daughter.”

I smiled.  Sometimes us adults talk about such fine things in the dark.