We danced all the way out to the parking lot, with no music at all. Trent pointed to his Intrepid, but I stopped at my Jeep.

“You always drive. I’ll drive this time. I have more trunk space for groceries, anyway.”

“You don’t have a trunk,” Trenton said.

“I have a trunk equivalent.”

“I have Olive’s car seat.”

“It’s fairly easy to switch out, isn’t it?”

Trenton shook his head. “I . . . have a thing. About riding with girls.”

“Is that because of Mackenzie, or is that a sexist remark?”

“Since the accident.”

I nodded. “Okay, then. But you’re going to let me reimburse you for gas.”

“You can pitch in for dinner,” he said.

“Rock on,” I said, then I bent my elbow and held my fist in the air, lifting my index finger and pinky.

Olive looked at her own hand and tried to do the same. “Wok on!” she said, once she mastered it.

We drove to the store, and while we walked down the aisles, I felt very domestic, and it was a little exciting. Not that I wanted kids of my own or anything—yet—but doing something so mundane with Trenton was oddly exhilarating. But the feeling didn’t last long. T.J. and I had never done anything like this, and now this simple grocery trip made me feel shame. Even though it made no sense whatsoever, a flash of resentment burned through my veins. I couldn’t be happy with T.J., and now he was robbing me of happiness when he wasn’t around, too. Of course it wasn’t his fault, but it was easier to blame him than to acknowledge my own shortcomings.

Nothing made sense anymore: why we were still together, why I was spending so much time with Trenton, or why I stayed in a barely-there relationship when I had someone who liked me—and who I liked—two feet away, just waiting for a green light.

Most people would just give up, but they didn’t have T.J. He had come into the Red one night, asked for my number an hour later, and in a few days we went on our first date. I didn’t even have to think about it. Being with him just made sense. T.J. pretty much spent the next week and a half at my apartment, and then for the next three months, he flew home every other weekend. After that, his project began, and I’d only seen him a handful of times. I stopped in the aisle, pretending to look over the soups, but I was really frozen, wondering why I was so committed to T.J., when I wasn’t even sure if we were in a real relationship at this point.

T.J. hadn’t texted me in three days. Before, I reasoned that he was busy with work. But suddenly, realizing what it was like to spend so much time with someone—and loving it—the sporadic texts, phone calls, and the hope of seeing each other one day wasn’t enough. Not even close.

“Chunky vegetable beef with brown gravy?” Trenton asked, holding up a large can. “This is good shit.”

I smiled and gripped the push bar of the grocery cart. “Throw it in. It’s going to come in handy soon when the nights get even colder.”

“You can borrow me anytime. I’m perfect for sweater weather.”

“Be careful. I might hold you to that.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He stopped in the middle of the aisle. “Wait. Really?”

I shrugged. “You were pretty comfortable today.”

“Comfortable? I’m f**king cashmere.”

I burst out laughing, and shook my head. We pushed the basket that doubled as a kid-size car while Olive pretended to steer and crash into things.

“I bet your California boyfriend isn’t as comfortable as I am,” Trenton said as we turned down the deli aisle.

“It’s cold!” Olive said, pretending to shiver. Trenton shed his coat and draped it over her. I reached out for a package of deli meat and tossed it into the basket.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really remember how soft he is.”

“What is that like? Being with someone you never see?”

“Military wives do it all the time. I don’t really see a point in complaining.”

“But you’re not his wife.”

“Not sure how I could be if we don’t see each other more often.”

“Exactly. So, what keeps you going?”

I shrugged. “I can’t put my finger on it. There’s just something about him.”

“Does he love you?”

Trenton’s direct and very personal question made the muscles in my neck tense. It felt like an attack on our relationship, but I knew those feelings of defensiveness were so strong because Trenton was asking questions that I had asked myself many times. “He does.”

“But he loves California more? He’s in school, right?”

I cringed. I didn’t like talking specifics about T.J. T.J. didn’t like me talking specifics, either. “It’s not school that keeps him there. It’s his job.” Trenton shoved his hands into his pockets. He was wearing a brown leather cuff around his wrist, a brown leather braided bracelet, and the bracelet Olive had made for him. “Do you ever take Olive’s bracelet off?” I asked.

“I promised her I wouldn’t. Don’t change the subject.”

“Why do you want to talk about T.J.?”

“Because I’m curious. I want to know what makes you stay in a relationship like that.”

“Like what?”

“Where you’re not a priority. I don’t get the sense that this guy is an idiot, so I’m trying to figure it out.”

I bit my lip. Trenton was being endearing and making me feel sick about T.J. all at the same time. “It’s kind of like you and Olive. It might not make sense to people standing on the outside, and it sounds weird even when he tries to explain, but he has responsibilities that are important.”

“So are you.”

I leaned into his side, and he put his arm around me, squeezing me even tighter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER HAM AND CHEESE SANDWICHES, A MOVIE, AND A short trip to Chicken Joe’s, Trenton and Olive were on their way to her house, and I was on my way to the Red. I could see my breath as I walked to the employees’ side entrance, and kept my coat on until more bodies filtered in and warmed the bar.

“Holy flippindip!” Blia said, rubbing her hands together as she passed by. “It’s colder than a frog’s ass in January!”