Don’t call me. He says. I’ll call you.

Thump! You can actually hear the sound of my heart landing on the floor.

He fixes it by saying: I mean–I will call you. I want to.

He calls up on Sunday: Want to go for a walk?

I’m annoyed that we didn’t go out on Saturday evening, but feel better that he calls on Sunday. I agree.

He comes over and brings white tulips. I like that he brings flowers. I give him a nice kiss hello. We go outside and start to walk. We walk down the street. I start to talk. It’s the only time I’ve spent with him the entire weekend.

We walk.

We talk. (Maybe I’m doing all the talking).

We walk to the other end of town.

We walk back.

He nudges me past the sidewalks to my house. More walking? I ask. He chuckles and we walk past a few houses that’s he’s thought about buying and we talk about real estate for a bit. I theorize that one recently bought house has renters. That’s why there are so many cars parked out front. Looks like my house I laugh. I often have four or five cars parked outside of mine. The only way a single person can buy a house in this town is to buy one and share it.

We walk past another house where a young couple is moving in. I stop and ask if they are new home owners. No. No. They say. We are renting. Welcome to the neighbourhood I say.

We continue walking.

We walk around the corner and cross Powell Street.

He looks up at the stars. It’s a beautiful night.

We walk up around the school.

So. What did you do today? I guess I’m running out of things to talk about.

Laundry. Then I did some ironing. I laugh and tell him he gets points for ironing. He’s the only person I know in the 21st Century who irons.

We start walking back to my house again.

So. He says. Three-and-a-half months.

Three-and-a-half months I repeat–feeling a tiny bit hopeful that he’s actually counted.

Three-and-a-half months he says. I’ve been thinking about that lately.

Hmm…My heart starts to sink. What have you been thinking?

I’ve just been thinking.

About what? I prompt. What about three-and-a-half months?

About how I feel.

Thump! That’s the sound of my heart hitting the pavement.

How do you feel? I venture.

I–uh–haven’t been feeling like a boyfriend.

Oh. DUH! I think. I haven’t exactly been feeling like a girlfriend. Well. I say. Why is that do you think?

I–uh–just don’t have those feelings for you.

Great. After the hour-and-a-half walk and trivial patter, we are finally talking about what needs to be talked about.

And after everything you did on Valentine’s Day, I realized that you are for real. That this is real for you. And I don’t want you to waste your time.

My heart is somewhere on the pavement–probably scurrying under a rock. I note the house where we are so I can come and collect it later–if I can find it.

Well. I say. Thank you for being honest. Thanks for actually telling me.

I’m sorry he says. I can hear some pain in his voice. I know how painful it is to be honest.

I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. And I’d still like to be your friend.

Friends? I question with a bit of disbelief. I’m hurting and the sushi raw feelings are welling up. My heart is already on the ground somewhere back in front of that house. Friends? Well. I say. Well. I guess you can’t have everything.

So this is it? You’re breaking up with me? I just want to clarify the situation.

Yes. He sighs. I guess. I’m really sorry.

You are going away for two weeks at Christmas. You ask if he wants your parent’s number, in case he might want to call. He says it’s only two weeks.

He doesn’t have your number, so he doesn’t call you on Christmas Day to wish you Happy Christmas.

He takes you out to San Francisco for the entire day, and you walk around looking at stuff and talking and getting used to each other after the two-week break and you’re just happy to see him and you want to hold his hand and touch his face and he tells you later that he doesn’t do public displays of affection.

You have to ask if you’re invited to Tahoe for SuperBowl weekend.

You don’t win the random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game thing.

When he brings you flowers a week before Valentine’s Day, he says he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day.

He makes plans for the weekend and doesn’t invite you. And if he does invite you, you sense it’s more out of duty than desire.

You don’t have pictures of the two of you doing anything together. You realize you don’t do much together.

You don’t really feel part of his life–let alone invited into it.

He doesn’t really tell his parents he has a girlfriend. His brother does.

He tells you he doesn’t have those feelings for you and he just wants to be your friend.

And you wish he’d told you that before you went to all the effort to embarrass him and make him feel special on Valentine’s Day.

Fool.

He might like you.
You might like him.

He might like to kiss you.
You might like to kiss him.

He might ask you to be his girlfriend.
After some reflective thought and careful consideration, you might say you would be his girlfriend.
You might like that he asked you to be his girlfriend and didn’t just assume you were.

He might call you to talk about your day.
You might like that he talked a bit more about his day, but mainly you’re happy he called to ask you about yours.

He might bring you flowers because you say you like flowers.
He might invite you to meet his friends.
You might want to introduce him to your real friends, but you’re not quite sure why he’s your boyfriend.

He might pick you up at the airport after you’ve been away for two weeks at Christmas and spend the day with you in San Francisco.
You really like that he picked you up at the airport after you’d been away for Christmas.
You might like that he spent the day with you in San Francisco.

He might mention that he’s thinking of going to Tahoe for SuperBowl weekend because that’s when he normally goes–with his friend from college–and there’s really nobody on the slopes on SuperBowl weekend. And you ask if you’re invited. And he says sure. So you plan to go to Tahoe to go snowboarding. And it’s kind of exciting because it’s your first sort-of weekend away with somebody who resembles a boyfriend.

You might not to get to go snowboarding at Tahoe on SuperBowl weekend because a snowstorm closed all the roads, but you do get to spend a concentrated period-of-time together in a car driving to and from Sacramento. And you get to talk the whole time and you start to feel more like your regular Princess Donkey self. And you just start to feel slightly comfortable with the person who resembles a boyfriend. And you get to go out to a SuperBowl party with some of his friends at one of the boss’s houses.

And he might buy you some sort of random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game.
And you might win the random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game thing.

He might bring you flowers a week before Valentine’s Day.
He might finally tell his parents he has a girlfriend.

You might want to do something for him on Valentine’s Day. Something you’ve never done for anyone before–especially on Valentine’s Day. You might want to do something that would slightly embarrass him, but make him feel special at the same time. You might arrange access to his office and decorate it with silly hearts and valentine streamers and confetti and candy–just to make a statement.