Continued from two days ago.
We left the restaurant and started walking around the block. It’s slightly difficult to walk with one’s heart in one’s throat, but somehow I managed. Eventually he said, “I like you. And I’m really attracted to you. But . . . what’s going to be different this time?”
I started talking, stammering even more than I usually do when I’m nervous. I talked about the strong effect our conversation on Yom Kippur had had on me; I talked about my coming to see him in a new light; I talked about my understanding of what a blackguard I’d been. “I’m a different person than I was a year ago,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
“I mean, you can think about it, you don’t have to give me an answer now, or if your answer’s no I completely understand and—”
“No, I mean, okay, I’ll go out on a date with you.”
Then I burst into tears.
Which was the first time I’d done that in front of him, despite having dated him for six months. So I was already doing better on the emotional honesty front, as bursting into tears is something I find myself having the urge to do at least twelve times every day, but I always bottle it up.
So we’ve seen each other a few times since then, and I’ve had a really nice time (except for when I herniated, though I suspect that, with some fudging, not having to go to the emergency room can be counted as having a really nice time). I’m excited and nervous and terrified and full of hope and doubt.
And with that, you’re all current. So far, this story has no ending.
It’s just to be continued.