The Man Who Donated a Kidney to Me Proposed a Month Later, Claiming He Was Terminally Ill and Didn't Want to Pass Alone – But Right After We Said 'I Do,' He Took My Hand and Whispered, 'Now I Can Finally Tell You the Truth'

"Correct," Nathan said. "Keep the fern alive."

Friendship came quietly after that, then accelerated with the strange intensity of people who had already shared something enormous before learning the ordinary things about each other.

One evening, rain trapped us under the awning outside my building.

    I started wanting him there even when I didn't need him.

Nathan looked at me and said, "You know you can stop thanking me."

    "I haven't thanked you today."

"Your face has."

I smiled. "Rude."

"Accurate."

    Nathan knocked on my door after dark.

This was the dangerous part: I started wanting him there even when I didn't need him.

A month after the transplant, Nathan knocked on my door after dark.

No groceries. No book. No joke.

He stood in the hallway with both hands in his coat pockets.

    "Can I come in?"

I stepped aside.

He sat at my kitchen table and stared at the fern.