He stared at me. “Ex.”Who were these super human, beautiful weirdos lying about their names and relations?“Just to clarify, she’s never been your sister?”He laughed. “No, never. Wife only. Now ex-wife.”“How ex?”“What do you mean?”“How long have you been divorced?”He glanced at the road, then back at me. “Four years, almost five.”I silently did the math …“We divorced when I was thirty.”Thirty and divorced? “When did you get married?”“Too young.”I stared at him. “Fourteen? How young are we talking?”“Twenty-two, the summer after I graduated Harvard.”“That is young.”He faced the road again when a truck moved into our lane.“Why didn’t you tell me when we met?”He frowned and looked over his shoulder to steer around the truck. “I don’t really know. Anita set it up by saying she was my sister, and because I figured we’d never see each other again, why contradict her.”“But …”“But …” He paused. “I like you …”
