“Just unsafe.”
He nodded.
“Do you think we could ever be safe?”
“I don’t know.”
That was answer.
We did not rush.
At forty-six, we started dating again.
Yes.
The man I divorced.
My friends had opinions.
Maya had many.
She said:
“I am your lawyer, not your mother.”
“Then why do you sound like my mother?”
“Because your mother had excellent judgment.”
I laughed.
Daniel and I attended counseling before calling relationship serious.
We discussed finances.
Boundaries.
My fear.
His shame.
His tendency to conceal when afraid.
My tendency to monitor when uncertain.
Neither was romantic.
Both were necessary.
At forty-eight, he proposed again.
No restaurant.
No crowd.
Kitchen.
He placed ring box on table.
“I am not asking for answer today.”
“Good.”
“There is nothing hidden in my jacket.”
“Very good.”
“I have told you everything I know.”
“Dangerous sentence.”
“Everything I know today.”
“Better.”
I waited three months.
