Jamie wanted to meet friends. I wanted to stay home and read. We spent most of dinner trying to invent a third option that neither of us had asked for.
Perhaps we could go out briefly. Perhaps the friends could come over. Perhaps I could bring the book somewhere, which sounded like an excellent way to annoy everyone at once.
Eventually Jamie asked whether I minded being home alone. I said that being home alone was approximately the entire proposal.
We checked what actually mattered.
I had been worried that declining the outing would sound like declining time together. Jamie had been worried that leaving would look inconsiderate.
We both liked the dinner we were already having. We also had Saturday morning free, and there was a bakery we wanted to try. These were actual shared plans, not compensation for an evening spent differently.
We agreed a rough return time so I would not wonder where Jamie was. Then we stopped negotiating.
The evening fitted both of us.
Jamie put on the jacket that had been waiting over a chair. I moved a cushion, found the page I had lost and read until I wanted tea.
There was no dramatic revelation in the quiet flat. I finished a chapter, looked up an unfamiliar word and discovered that I had bought the wrong biscuits. It was exactly the sort of evening I had hoped for.
When Jamie came home, I heard the best part of a story about one of our friends. I told the biscuit story, which was shorter.
The next morning we went to the bakery. We had plenty to talk about, including whether the next Friday might involve a film together. We could decide that when we knew what kind of Friday we wanted.
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First-person account ·
