I'm Thinking of Ending Things

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You can’t fake a thought. And this is what I’m thinking.

It worries me. It really does. Maybe I should have known how it was going to end for us. Maybe the end was written right from the beginning.

The road is mostly empty. It’s quiet around here. Vacant. More so than anticipated. So much to see but not many people, not many buildings or houses. Sky. Trees. Fields. Fences. The road and its gravel shoulders.

“You want to stop for a coffee?”

“I think I’m okay,” I say.

“Last chance we’ll have before it becomes really farmy.”

I’m visiting Jake’s parents for the first time. Or I will be when we arrive. Jake. My boyfriend. He hasn’t been my boyfriend for very long. It’s our first trip together, our first long drive, so it’s weird that I’m feeling nostalgic — about our relationship, about him, about us. I should be excited, looking forward to the first of many. But I’m not. Not at all.

“No coffee or snacks for me,” I say again. “I want to be hungry for supper.”

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