“You made me ask again when I could mean it,” she continued. I told her she had made me answer when I couldn’t hide behind a rule, and she smiled against my shoulder before accusing me of improving at romance. Later, Jess pulled her away for photographs, and I watched them cross the room together, Maya laughing while trying not to catch her heel in the hem of her dress. Nothing about the sight was guaranteed, which no longer made it less worth loving.
I went to her knowing that loving someone would never come with the certainty I used to demand. It came with a woman who knew my worst jokes, a lemon tree with one hard-earned lemon, and another Sunday morning I wanted to share. Maya had asked whether she was really just my friend, but the question that stayed with me was the one I had almost been too afraid to answer. If the person you loved asked you tomorrow, would you tell the truth—or give them another reason to believe you didn’t?
