“She wants to impress you, to make you see the effort she’s putting in.” He took a breath. “To you it’s all performative, and the impact it has on you is, well, it’s hell to even be there. So what I’m saying is that intention and impact aren’t connecting in the right way. But each of you thinks what you are doing and feeling is right.”

“Did you read that in a self-help book?” I scoffed at how wise he sounded, how maturely he was dissecting my family when I wanted to be a brat and complain about how awful my evil stepmother and father were.

“I think I did, actually. But I came up with my own interpretation after almost dying a few times,” he said, and I nearly choked on my breath.

“Sorry, I—” I began.

He held up his hand. “Sorry for what? Why is it your first instinct to say ‘sorry’? Did you send me to war? Did you hold my hand while I enlisted? Do you profit millions from sending me off?”

I was sort of stunned at the way he was speaking to me. It was like something inside of him had woken up and crawled out to play. There was a harshness laced with truth there, and honestly, I had never really thought about how a soldier felt after coming back from war. Especially a young one. I villainized my father for missing half of my life and I made sure to stay away from other soldiers, for the most part. Until now.

“Well, did you?” he repeated.

I shook my head. “I almost apologized again.”

“I know.” Kael turned his body so he was leaning toward the window, his face out of my eyesight while I drove.

As I skipped ahead in my playlist and Shawn Mendes started again, he reached to take his phone out of his pocket.

He didn’t do what most people our age did and mindlessly scroll, he checked the screen and put it in the cupholder. He didn’t seem bothered the least bit about the uncomfortable silence between us. His disaffection, mixed with the relief that dinner was over, allowed me to start to relax.

A few minutes went by and I found myself softly singing along to the music. I wasn’t great at singing and wasn’t trying to be. The song ended and I looked over at Kael, surprised to see that he was already looking at me. I didn’t feel the embarrassment that I was expecting. I smiled at him and kept on driving. An old Mariah Carey song that reminded me of my mom trying to hit the high notes came on and I swiped up on my phone and closed Spotify altogether.

We were on the highway now, only about five minutes away from my place. I didn’t want to ask him if he had anywhere else to go; it felt rude.