She looked up so quickly I almost smiled. “With each other?” she asked, then closed her eyes as if she wanted to retrieve the question. I told her that was generally how dates worked, and this time her laugh sounded like relief. We agreed on Friday, one actual evening with no pretending we were merely having dinner because neither of us felt like cooking, and she held out her hand because apparently shock had reduced us to business procedures.
Friday arrived with an unreasonable amount of importance attached to ordinary clothing. I changed shirts twice, then chose the dark blue button-down Maya once said made me look less like a man who argued with municipal permits for recreation. At 6:58, I stood outside her door feeling absurdly nervous about knocking on a surface I had knocked on hundreds of times. She opened it wearing a simple black dress and small gold earrings, and I forgot every clever thing I had planned to say.
