Dash buckles the telescope into the backseat, and we’re off to the astronomy meetup that’s probably canceled. 

“The weather should clear up by tonight.” He turns the windshield wipers to the highest setting. 

We’re forty-five minutes into the trip, and the back roads are littered with wind-blown leaves and twigs. Smooth jazz plays on the radio. I fall asleep watching the rain stream across the passenger window. 

“Shit.” Dash wakes me. He stops the car. In front of us, a fallen tree stretches across the road. “Shit!” He pounds the steering wheel. The car behind us turns around and leaves. 

Dash stares at the tree. “I’m going to try to move it.” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Come on, help me.” 

“That tree is fucking huge! We’ll never move it.” 

“Fine.” He turns the car around. We drive in silence for a few miles.

“I really wanted this to work out,” he says.  

“You can’t help the rain.” I lean my head back, closing my eyes.

“I wanted it to be special. Romantic, you know? Looking up at the Milky Way and all.” 

“The Milky Way will still be there. And there are plenty of romantic things that don’t require a two-hour trip.” I place my hand on his thigh and move it up, up. 

“I said ‘romantic,’ not ‘sexual.’” He pushes my hand away. 

“Romance generally leads to something sexual.” 

He doesn’t answer. I stare out my window.  

“Look.” He points. A fallen branch blocks our lane. 

“Drive around it.” 

He stops, puts the hazard lights on, and gets out. I roll my eyes.

He drags the heavy branch to the shoulder. When he’s done, he just stands there in the rain, staring out at something I can’t see.