“Yes,” I said. “Immediately. Before you finished the sentence.”
He laughed.
“And sixty-year-old you?”
What I Told Him
I squeezed his hand.
“She’s smarter.”
He laughed harder than he should have.
“So that’s a no?”
“It means she knows we don’t need another forty years to prove what we already knew at nineteen.”
And Jeffrey Hale took a ring out of a box he’d bought in the summer of 1984 and slid it onto my finger.
It fit.
It fit perfectly, and I don’t want to know how, because he bought it without ever measuring my hand.
He leaned his head against mine and neither of us said anything for a long time.
Where We Are Now
We talk every single morning. He calls at eight because he’s always been an early riser and I’ve always hated that about him.
Peter comes by my house about twice a week. He’s started fixing things without being asked — the gutter over the porch, the back steps. I think it’s how he handles it.
