When my friend and I were about to leave, I asked him, “Do you go out with anyone?” He seemed to be taken aback, but I couldn’t help it. I am basically direct by nature.  Also, I had recently broken up with someone I’d dated off and on for years. To make a long story short, he was dating someone else at the same time as me. I was still smarting from the hurt and humiliation. Even though the break-up happened the year before, my ego and self-worth were still bruised. So my question, although direct, would weed out potentially datable guys from those who were taken.

 

When he didn’t answer me right away, I was both suspicious and confused. Still, I gave him my phone number and left to go home. I had to go to work the next day.

 

A couple of weeks went by quickly. I was disappointed that I did not hear from him, but it was the end of the school year and so many activities and functions were going on. I was kept busy. One day, though, I happened to be home when the phone rang. It was him! Did I want to go out to eat? Sure.

 

My apartment in St. Louis was located on a street that was divided by a grassy median. I loved sitting on the balcony that overlooked it. Despite being a thoroughfare, there was a peacefulness to just watching cars and occasional buses go up on side and down the other. I remember watching and waiting for him, wondering what kind of car he drove. Not that it mattered.

 

A silver sports car went up the street, turned, and began making its way towards my address. It pulled up in front of my building. He got out of the car. Good Lord, I thought: he drives a 280Z! Not that it mattered.

 

That night we ate at Calico’s, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant by St. Louis University. I ordered a salad and barely picked at the Provolone cheese the covered the top. I was starving, but I didn’t want to let on how much I could really pack away; not on our first date, anyway. Besides, I was listening to his explanation of why he didn’t answer me weeks before when I asked if he was going out with anyone. His story was that he shared an apartment with two other people, one of whom was a girl that he had brought to St. Louis from Columbia, Missouri a few months before. She wasn’t able to find a job in all the months she was in St. Louis, and he was getting tired of supporting her. According to him, things hadn’t been going well between them for quite some time, but he just had not gotten around to kicking her out of the apartment. The reason I had not heard from him for a couple of weeks is that he needed that time to break things off with her and move her back to Columbia. He wanted his slate to be clean when and if things were ever to become of us. That told me he was an honest guy.

 

That evening, I learned other things about him; that his full-time job was actually that of an elementary school counselor, and that our paths might have crossed at least twice before at concerts that we both attended. He had a gentle way about him, and I liked that. He took me home afterwards, always the gentleman, opening and closing doors for me along the way. That was something that my dad always did for my mom. Our good-bye was short and sweet.

 

The next day, a box containing a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses was delivered to my apartment. I remembered being absolutely blown away since that was a first. Ever.

 

No one could have guessed that we would be engaged within a month and married in five.

 

Not that it mattered.