We’re sitting in the car and it’s quiet. Which is unusual. Usually I am talking… silence is rare for me. I tend to fill any silent space with noise. But this particular day I just had nothing to say. So Andrew says, “Talk to me…” and I reply, “What do you want to talk about?”
He mulls it over. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Andrew,” I begin, “you can’t expect me to know what to talk about all the time. If you want to talk why don’t you start the conversation?”
And then he asks: “How was your day?”
“Fine,” I answer.
“How are your cramps?”
I sigh. And put my head in hands. Maybe it’s better that I keep talking…