In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Thirty-One: It Was Ours to Lose

"Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be"

- Doris Day, "Que Sera, Sera"

Chapter Thirty-One

I was not sure about that. I was not sure at all.

"Avery," he said suddenly. I hummed in response, thinking about all the things he could say, he could do, right now. The list of possibilities was endless and I had high hopes.

"Why diplomacy?"

Bubble burst. Stabbed. Crushed. Popped.

"What?" I blinked. He turned down the radio.

"Why do you want to be a diplomat?" His fingers tapped an unknown melody on the wheel. I looked confusedly from his long fingers to his thoughtful brow. Of all the questions he could have asked me, and all the things I wanted him to say, he was asking about my career choice? I didn't want small talk. I wanted something else.

"You're asking me that now?"

He turned to me with a glimpse of his own confusion. "Why not now?"

I'll kill him. I'll literally murder him. Then he can call me a suspect for real.

"Nothing. It's just... random."

I tugged on a limp strand of hair in front of my face, my mind already tottering down the path of daydreams. It was only when I glanced at him that I realized I knew the look gracing his features. He stared ahead at the road, but his expression was flat, and his mouth was pursed thin. He thought I was evading again.

"It's not a secret or anything. Just a random question. I wasn't expecting it. Nothing to hide between us, right?" He glanced over, and I met his eyes, uncompromising in my promise of truth.

I have nothing to hide other than myself.

He nodded. I chewed my cheek as I considered how I wanted to approach the question.

I waffled between giving a shallow, succinct answer or giving a deeper explanation. Did he want the long answer? Was this like when someone asked 'how are you', but they didn't really want to know? Was I supposed to provide a tidy answer wrapped in a bow? Did I need to?

When that question was asked on a first date, they were looking for a tidy answer. But this wasn't a first date, and if I was being honest with myself, I knew Reed. He wanted the complicated answers. He'd always wanted them. He'd never demanded I shorten my words or edit my thoughts. He never seemed annoyed if I overshared. Surely, I didn't need to censor myself now.

If he asked the question, he wants the answer. There are no expectations here. There's no need to overthink what you say to him. He'll listen either way.

"I guess I always thought there was something powerful about being the person behind the scenes," I started. "There's always a person in between, and I think I want to be that person. They're not this or that. I mean, of course there are national loyalties, but it's different. You live in one place but you're from another. You advocate for your home as you create a new one in the world."

"A person in-between," he repeated. I could see him finding places in his brain to tuck the information away, adding these new clarifications to what he knew about me. "When did you decide that was what you wanted to do? That being a diplomat was the ultimate goal?"

"When I figured out I was always the peacekeeper." I laughed, feeling the humorous ache of dark truth settle on my chest. Reed looked at me oddly. It was his turn to be surprised by my response.