Too Close

He sits across the picnic table, not exactly in front of me but closer than we’ve been in ages. Curly hair washed in sunshine, dark eyes sparkling with unsaid thoughts.

I could ask him how he’s been. He’d say he’s all right. I’d say that I’m glad, that I’ve been fine too, that life has gone on. But we just watch each other in silence—our own memories keeping us company.

I grind a leaf to pieces, so my fingers don’t betray me. He moves closer and mimics my drill.

Too close.

Impulsively, I take his hand. He doesn’t pull away.