Driven

I'm in what should be the driver's seat, but I have no steering wheel. He's in what should be passenger's seat, driving confidently, as if we're in England and always have been in England.  I think we're like besties on this road trip, ever so close, and getting ever closer, with me just kicking back enjoying the scenery, him being charming and driving well, but in the next scene he says a thing that makes me completely doubt my understanding of things. 

We're at the destination, a bed and breakfast, settling in, affectionately I think.  He's moving clothes from his suitcase into a dresser like the orderly, organized, ready-to-be-present-where-he-is guy (whereas I always just keep my suitcase packed and voila! I'm also ready... to escape at a moment's notice).  I notice there's only a single bed in this room.  Yay, I guess we'll be cozy?   

"It's clear from that drive that there's no 'we'," he declares calmly.  Even kindly, like a teacher.  "But at least we're connecting."  

Whoa.

The implication is that I should not have been so passively content with being driven by him.  I'm challenged to also drive-choose-speak-steer-dare-risk and in the end *unpack* if I want him and me to be "we".