“I will never, ever, EVER go out with you,” I calmly, rationally and—to my own ears—very maturely said. He looked at me quietly, as usual, but his big, brown eyes. “Ok,” he finally said in a voice only marginally higher than a whisper. I was a little shocked at his easy acquiescence. I felt guilty, but more so I felt my own presumptuousness and an unaccountable sense of loss.
We’d had this conversation twice and I’d only known him a year. The funny thing is that he had never actually asked me out. He was just so there. He was so nice, so kind, so funny and so very understanding. He got me!
Within a few weeks we were speaking to each other again, though, as expected, he refused to discuss it again. Ever. I didn’t lose my friend completely until, in an uncharacteristic display of cowardice, I stopped speaking to him when I got a boyfriend.
Two years later, when I was yet again alone, he was there. My movie buddy, card partner, SCRABBLE© nemesis, cheerleader, confidante and best friend, was there.
Twelve years later, I know that my love, my husband, will always be here. Though, to this day he has never asked me out.