June 5
The reason for our dinner sat between us like an elephant in the living room: we tiptoed around it, pretending it wasn’t there, pretending we were just friends having a nice dinner together.
And it was a nice dinner. I found Sarah engaging and charming. She seemed to find me pleasant enough, which I found encouraging if not completely satisfying. And Sarah was right: the carnitas were excellent.
When the waitress had cleared our plates, I brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Listen,” I told her, “I have a triple-A card. Let’s call them and get your car towed over to this glass place I know. We can rent you a car—there’s an Enterprise down the street from my apartment. And you can stay at my place—I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You don’t have to do all that,” Sarah said. “I can handle it.”
“I want to do it,” I insisted.
She sighed. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I didn’t want to get you involved.”
“It’s no problem,” I assured her. Sleeping on the couch for a night seemed a small price to pay to get past her walls.
Later, after we’d had her car towed, stopped by her place for some clothes and toiletries, and parked her nearly-new Ford Fiesta rental in the driveway, we sipped herb tea at my kitchen table.
“I imagine we’ll need to coordinate our showers in the morning,” I said. “What time do you usually get up?”
“Look,” she said, “you’ve been really nice about all this. But you don’t have to rearrange your life for me. Just tell me what time you want to use the bathroom, and I’ll be out of your way.”
The word "nice" made my skin crawl, but I shrugged, and told her what time I usually got up.
“Fine,” she said. She drained her mug and stood. “I’m going to go wash my face.”
“I’ll be here,” I said.
As I waited my turn in the bathroom, I got some clean sheets out of the cupboard and changed the bed. As I worked, I tried to tell myself that I expected too much. Sarah had let me in to her world far more today than in all the months we’d worked together. But I wanted more. I wanted her to open up, trust me, rely on me, and yes: even date me. I had to admit my expectations seemed a bit high. I’d thought of Sarah in that way for months, but as far as I could tell, she had just approached that threshold with me a few hours before. If anything like that were to happen, she would need more time.
When Sarah reappeared, with her hair up and clad in a white cotton nightgown, I’d retreated to the couch, where I had laid out a blanket and pillow.
“Thanks for this,” Sarah said. “You’ve been really sweet today.”
“It’s no problem,” I replied.
We stood looking at each other for a moment—a poignant moment perhaps when things could have gone either way. Then Sarah said, “Good night, Joel. You sleep well.”
“You too,” I said. Then, not knowing what else to do, I opened my arms, offering her a hug.
Sarah gave me a funny look. Then she stepped forward, into my arms, and collapsed against me, her arms around me. For a moment, we just hugged, her face against my chest. Then she raised her head and kissed me on the lips, hungrily. I responded.
When we came up for air, I murmered softly, “We don’t have to do this unless you want to.”
“Shut up,” she hissed, in a harsh whisper. “I've wanted this since the day I met you.”
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