He stays calm while I explain the panic.
While I was away, I thought lots about how perfect things are, but when it was time to see him. . . the pressure was too much. . . and what if. . . what if I am just wrong? . . .
Older than him and a girl, I might find myself under more pressure to be right. Too be right sooner.
I need him to spare me if he knows it’s not gonna work. If I’m going to have another big breakup, I need it to stay as small as possible.
And I’m telling him this and feeling like a crazy girl. I just want to make sense. I don’t want to be one of those girls.
He doesn’t pull away, says he understands.
And we turn momentarily, hesitatingly, embarrassedly to the faintest glimmer of what-if. A problem? A hope?
We stop talking about it. We don’t know, won’t know. And we don’t need to know. Not now. Not tonight.