Smile, Though Your Heart is Breaking

It is a universal truth that some sentences are better left unspoken. Some phrases, no matter how innocuous they seem, dictate the whole course of a conversation. Words strung together, like can, we, and talk, or can, you, come, here, and for a minute, insert such a feeling of dread into the listener's ears that, even if the following conversation is benign in its content, the listener cannot fully participate for fear of the other person's mindset. Equally true is the axiom that all important conversations should take place at night. That way, the participants can stumble wearily into bed and sleep the tension away.

Washington, D.C., was built on a swamp. In the summer, the air is soft, sometimes swampy itself, even at night. They met by the tidal basin under the cherry trees that are no longer in bloom. The air was blue and thick and the first stars were beginning to appear in the sky. They walked in silence because neither wanted to be the person who initiated the conversation. Neither wanted to admit that they had failed at something they had never tried. It was almost humiliating.

They were standing at the base of the Jefferson Memorial. The huge stone steps loomed in front of them before rising and forming a dome over the statue of one of the country's founding fathers. He was a man who helped start their country. It was almost ironic that they were there to end something.

He drifted to the steps and sat down. From his vantage point, he could see the whole basin. It was empty, only dotted with a few tourists looking at the monuments. Tomorrow, the water's surface will be littered with paddleboats. Tourists and joggers will line the paths. Tonight, she was the only person around and she was hesitating at the base of the steps.

Although he couldn't see her face clearly, he knew she was trying to decide what to do. He could almost hear the debate in her head. He understood the debate. He had argued it this morning before he called her. He held it again this evening before getting out of the car. It was a matter weighing which option was more appealing: whether to have this conversation or to run as far and as fast as he could.

Finally, with a sound that was sort of a sigh and half a harrumph, she settled her body next to his. She pulled her knees close to her body, tucked her elbows between them and her chest, and would not look at him. He saw all this and nearly breathed a sigh of relief because he knew that he would not have to start this conversation.

Steadfastly refusing to look at him, she turned her eyes to the trees across the basin. After a few minutes of staring at their indistinct forms, she spoke up softly, "Do you think we'll be able to stay friends?"

"We've always been friends." Resisting the urge to rub a fist over his chest again, he forced his hands to dangle loosely over his knees.

She tilted her head slightly so that she could see him from the corner of her eye. Her hair fell in soft angles against her cheek, dividing and segmenting her skin. "Yeah," she said quietly, "I guess we have." She paused. "It's different now though."

He huffed out a breath and wrinkled his forehead. "It doesn't have to be does it?"

Her head shook a little and she released a shaky sigh. She laughed slightly and brushed a hand over her cheeks. "I think it does now. At least for a little while." Angling her knees towards his, she looked at him for the first time that evening. "Until everything settles down."

"Mac, I." He broke off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

"I know. Really, I do."

It had all been said before. On porches, on ferries, on ships, at the end of races. They'd had their chances. Now all they needed to do was end the what ifs. Slowly, he leaned in to kiss her. It was light; it was soft. And it signaled endings rather than beginnings. Desperate emotions didn't compel it. Awkward situations didn't demand it. Just as slowly, he withdrew and smiled at her. "I'll walk you to your car." He offered her a hand and hauled her to her feet.

"Thanks." She dug through her purse to find her keys. She looked up at him from beneath her bangs and smiled slightly. "Do me a favor?" she asked.

"What's that?" His hand rested beneath her elbow as he walked them towards their cars.

Shuddering out a deep breath, she moistened her lips. "Don't bring whoever she is to JAG right away?" She laughed nervously. "At least not soon. I don't want a repeat of the Mic / Renee caper."

His fingers tightened slightly, then fell away. They had reached the cars. "Sure." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Make me the same promise."

She flinched at his word choice, but nodded. He watched as she braced her shoulders and looked away. Her gaze dashed over his shoulder and she pressed her lips together. Her arms slipped around her torso and hugged her body hard. "I." Her voice trailed off into the night sky. "I want to end our deal."

"The baby deal?" He hadn't been expecting this request. It caught him so off guard, he didn't stop to ponder how he knew to which deal she was referring.

"Yeah." She nodded. "I need to end it." She turned her head away, once again refusing to look at him. "To make a clean break."

"But," he stammered. His arms rose and fell uselessly by his side. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "Okay," he almost whispered the word.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chin. His arms slipped around her waist; her arms remained tightly locked around her body. "It'll be better this way." She pulled away slightly. "You'll see."

"Yeah. It will."

She pasted a bright smile on her face. "I should really go." She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "I'll see you Monday?"

"Monday," he smiled. He slipped into his car and started the ignition. With a wave, she drove off. Slowly, he pulled away from the curb and drove in the opposite direction.