THE MEET UP

FALLING

We stay like that for an hour. Maybe more. Time feels different with his arms around me.

He doesn't try anything. Doesn't move his hands. Doesn't suggest we take early nearly. It just holds me while I flash back how to breathe typically.

“ I should order food,” I eventually say. My voice is muffled against his chest. “ You missed lunch because of my drama. ”

“ Your drama is more interesting than lunch. ”

I pull back to look at him. “ That’s a low bar. ”

“ Fair point, ”he smiles. “ But I’m starving. What do you like? ”

“ Thai. There’s a place that delivers. Green curry, extra spicy. ”

“ You like spicy? ”

“ I like feeling something. Indeed, if it’s my mouth on fire. ”

He looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s parsing the meaning under the words.

“ I get that. ”

Of course, he does.

We order food. Wait for it. Fill the silence with easy discussion. He asks about my housing project. I asked about his art. We didn't talk about David. Don't talk about exes or divorces or the fact that we’re basically strangers sitting on my couch like we’ve done this a hundred times.

The food arrives. We eat on the bottom. Cross-legged Participating holders. I burn my mouth on the curry. Do n’t care.

“ Tell me something true,” Amon says suddenly. “ Something you don't tell people. ”

I freezemid-bite. “ That’s a dangerous question. ”

“ I like danger. ”

I set down my chopstick. Consider lying. Consider diverting. Rather, I will tell the truth.

“ I’m alarmed I’ll never be enough. That David was right. That I’m too ambitious, too delicate, too important work. That anyone who really knows me will eventually leave. ”

The words hang in the air. Raw. Vulnerable. Further honest than I’ve been with anyone, including my therapist.

Amon doesn't rush to assure me. Doesn't offer empty tropes. He just nods slowly.

“ My turn,” he says. “ I’m alarmed. I’ll always be struggling. That my art will never be enough to support a family. That women will see me as a romantic idea but not a practical choice. That I’ll die poor and alone with nothing but paintings nobody bought. ”

“ That’s dark. ”

“ You asked for the truth. True is generally dark. ”

We sit with that. With our participating fears laid bare. It should feel uncomfortable. Rather, it feels like relief.

“ I don't suppose you’re too important,” he says still. “ I suppose you’re exactly right. And anyone who makes you feel like you demand to be lower is an i***t. ”

My throat tightens. “ I don'tdon't suppose you’ll die alone. Your art is inconceivable. Someone will see that. ”

“ You see it. ”

“ I do. ”

Our eyes meet. Hold. Something shifts in the air between us.

He leans in slightly. Testing. Asking permission without words.

I should pull back. Should cover myself. Should flash back that I’m freshly disassociated and damaged and surely not ready for this.

I lean in too.

The kiss is soft. Conditional. A question further than a statement. His lips are gentle against mine. Asking, not demanding.

I kissed him back. Slowly. Learning the taste of him. Thai curry and something sweeter underneath.

When we pull apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“ Was that okay? ” he asks. His forepart rests against mine.

“ Yeah. Further than okay. ”

“ Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I revealed coffee to you. ”

I laugh. “ That’s a weird moment to develop a crush. ”

“ You laughed instead of yelling. I was smitten immediately. ”

We kiss again. Deeper this time. My hands find his hair. His hands gauge my waist. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this. Like I’m precious. Like I count.

But also my brain kicks in. The fear. The fear. The voice that sounds like David saying I’m not enough.

I pull back. “ stay. I — I ca n’t. This is too fast. I’m not ready. ”

Amon incontinently creates space. Hands dropping. “ Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have — ”

“ No, you didn't do anything wrong. I wanted that. I just — I need time. I need to figure out what I’m doing. I’m a mess, Amon. A complete mess. ”

“ You’re not a mess. You’re healing. There’s a difference. ”

“ I don't know if I can do this. A relationship. Dating. Whatever that is. ”

He takes my hand. Gently. “ Also, we do have a relationship. We just do this. Hanging out. Talking. Seeing where it goes. No pressure. No prospects. Just us, figuring it out together. ”

“ You’d be okay with that? With slow? ”

“ Sarah, I’d stay ever if that’s what you need. ”

The words should sound too good to be true. Should spark all my alarm bells. Rather, they feel honest. Real.

“ I've to go to Rwanda,” I blurted out. “ In four weeks. For work. The UN housing project. I’ll be gone a year. ”

His expression shifts. Surprise. Also, something more complicated. “ A year? ”

“ Yeah. And we know each other slightly. And I’m broken. And you earn someone who has their s**t together. So perhaps this — whatever this is, perhaps it’s a bad idea. ”

I’m twisting. I can feel it passing. The fear is rising. The need to run before I get hurt.

Amon cups my face. Makes me look at him.

“ Sarah. Breathe. One thing at a time. You’re going to Rwanda. Okay. We’ll figure it out. But right now, moment, can we just be then? Just enjoy this? ”

I want to argue. I wanted to cover myself by pushing him down.

Rather, I nod.

“ Okay. Just today. ”

“ Just today. ”

He kissed my forepart. Pulls me back against his chest. We sat in my living room, girdled by Thai food holders, and I let myself have this moment.

hereafter I’ll fear about Rwanda. About long distances. About how this ca n’t conceivably work.

But today, I let myself feel hope.