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“And you push in the clutch every time you shift?” she asked.

“Yes. Push in the clutch, foot off the gas, and shift.”

“That’s a lot to remember,” she said quietly.

“It’s not as hard as it seems,” I said. “I promise.” After that, we were silent for a while. I could tell that Ada was focused on me, on our hands, on what I was doing—trying to take it all in—so I didn’t push a conversation.

I let us be.

After a few minutes, Ada said, “I was married before.” Her voice was small again—the way it was when she said she couldn’t drive stick. I kept my hand on hers and tried not to react. I was surprised that she’d offered up anything about herself, and I wanted her to continue. “We had one car. It was a stick shift.”

“But you couldn’t drive it?” I asked, tightening my hand that was on the steering wheel.

“No, which meant I didn’t leave the house unless I was going somewhere within walking distance or my ex drove me.”

“He didn’t try to teach you?”

“He said I didn’t need to know how to drive it when he could take me anywhere I wanted to go.” An image of Ada flashed through my mind—an image in which she looked like a bird in a cage. My head was reeling about what that meant—that she wasn’t able to do things on her own—and it made me fucking angry.

Whoever this asshole was, I wanted to find him and kickhis ass off a cliff. “At the beginning, I thought it was sweet that he wanted to drive me everywhere—I thought he was taking care of me—but after a few weeks, I started to feel trapped.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, unsure how to make this better.

“It’s okay. It’s over now,” she said simply. I kept my eyes on the road because I knew if I looked at her, I would stop the truck and pull her to me.

I downshifted from fifth gear as we came to the last stop sign before town and turned to her. Our hands were still atop each other, and I could feel her heartbeat in my fingertips. “I really can teach you how to drive stick, Ada, if you’ll let me. You don’t have to feel trapped like that again.”

She looked away from me, and I had no choice but to start driving again. After a few minutes, a small “Thank you” came from the other side of the cab.

I stayed quiet, not sure how to care for her right now. Should I push the conversation along? Or should I stay quiet and let her be?

Luckily, I didn’t have to decide because Ada spoke first. “So do you actually have things to pick up in town or were you just being nice?”

I smiled and answered honestly—well, semi-honestly. She didn’t need to know how badly I wanted to spend time with her. “Both.”

“I’m going to be nosy to distract from the fact that I just spilled my guts to you a few minutes ago. What do you need in town?” She used air quotes when she said “town.”

I hesitated for a second. “Do you want the real answer? Or the easy one?”

“The real one,” she said without hesitation. “I just told you about my ex-husband, and I don’t think it gets more vulnerable than that.”

“You showed me yours, so I have to show you mine?” I said, amused.

“Something like that,” she responded. I thought she smiled a bit too.

“Well,” I started. “I have to pick up my antidepressant from the pharmacy, and they close at noon on Saturday, so your car had perfect timing in biting the dust. I might not have made it.” I didn’t mind sharing this with Ada. I was open about it, and I wanted her to know me.

Whether I liked it or not, this was part of who I was.

Stupid sad brain.

Ada was quiet again, so I jumped in. “Now we both know something about the other,” I said.

“Yeah,” she finally said with a small smile. “Look at us, being open and shit.”

“Feels kind of good, doesn’t it?”

“Actually, yes,” she responded. “I—um—” She hesitated for a second. “Thank you. For making me feel less weird about dumping all of that on you. It’s nice to feel like I’m not the only one who has shit to deal with.”