Owen asked to speak with me in person again two months after I moved out.
He sent a message in the morning.
Owen: I need to return a box of things I found in the hall closet. I also want to ask you something, if you're willing. We can do it by text if you prefer.
I agreed to meet him at the park near the community center. The box held a raincoat, two cookbooks, and a bag of old photographs I'd forgotten were there. I took it from him and set it on the bench between us.
"What did you want to ask?" I said.
He looked at the box, then back at me. "Would you consider trying again?"
The question was direct. I appreciated that he had asked it himself. It didn't make the answer easier.
"I'm not ready to say yes."
"Does that mean you might be?"
"I don't know."
He nodded slowly. "I've been
