We sat silently, me with my wine balancing carefully between two fingers, his hands holding on to his beer for dear life.

“Can I ask you a question.” I asked, taking a steady sip from my glass for some courage.

He thought for a moment, his lip curling in slowly, like he was going to say no.

“Yes.” He finally said, “But before you ask it, ask yourself if you should be.”

I shouldn’t have been. If I loved anything about the life I had, if I looked forward to my future at all I would have bit my tongue, had some more wine, and called it a night, alone. But my biggest fault has always been that I never do what I should.

“What would you say if I told you that I missed you.”

His bottle hit the table with a thud, and he raised his arms in the air as if in anger, but lowered them again, cradling his head in his hands.

“I shouldn’t say it, but I miss you too.”