I could hear the traffic behind us.
Then she asked, “Are you choosing me, or reacting because I finally made waiting uncomfortable?”
I looked at her.
It would have been easy to feel punished by the question. Instead, I thought of the eight years in which she had lived with an answer I had never intended to give. She was entitled to ask whether this one was real.
“I wanted you before today,” I said. “I can’t prove what I didn’t say. I can only stop making you live on
