Two wrongs do not make Mr.


Sitting in his bed after his five-year planning exercise, I asked him what traumas he was going through. Although the daughter of a social worker, or maybe because of it, I still haven’t learned to ask this question gently, or rather I still haven’t learned not to ask it.

“I’m actually doing really well,” he said.

I wondered about the voice in his body, a voice I learned keeps him awake most nights with his anxious chatter. Living far from his family and divorced from a woman he loved, he had a black hole in his chest so obvious I could already feel his gravity trying to pull me in.

The voice in my body said, “This person might suffocate you.

Tuesday afternoon, I’ll find out later, he canceled a second date with Zerrin at the last minute because he had a sore throat. The sore throat was due to his late night and his deep connection with another woman, which he confessed to Zerrin in an honest but unsolicited share.

Zerrin, of course, didn’t know the other woman was me. (Me neither.) On the contrary, she was confused and annoyed. He had been so loving and proactive with her – so determined to build a life of adventure together, which was music to his ears after years of dating in New York City.

“It doesn’t look right,” his body told him.

That same Tuesday afternoon, after leaving her apartment still under the spell of a rekindled human connection, I thought to myself, “Well, you have things in common, and you can’t have it all, so maybe be that he’s The One. After all, he loves folk music; I write folk music. Plus, every time he buys a new T-shirt, he gives one from his closet, just like me! And when he asked me what kind of fruit I identified with the most, and I said “mango”, he answered correctly, “Ah, you must have a delicate skin, a soft interior and a stone. solid.”

Sometimes it’s these delicious but accidental alignments that make us believe we are made for each other.

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