We had had the conversation, but had not acted on anything since it had been left sort of open to interpretation.
We went on as we normally did: he came over a few times a week for pizza and beers and hanging out. Sometimes we sat outside, sometimes we watched TV, sometimes we sat at my kitchen table.
One night we were sitting next to each other on my couch watching TV. I don’t know what we were watching or even when it happened. That whole summer was a blur. What I know is that at some point his hand found mine.
Fingers intertwined. His thumb softly rubbing my my thumb.
There was none of the awkwardness that comes with holding hands for the first time.
No sweaty palms.
None of that thing when both of you are afraid to move so your hands just sit there, losing blood flow to your finger tips.
If someone had to shift, she/he shifted.
Fingers tightened around the new hand and released.
If someone left to get a drink or go to the bathroom, without a word our hands re-found each other upon return.
No one spoke about this new action in our relationship. No one had to.
And then…the weight of my day and my feelings and all that was going on fell on me and I drifted off to sleep on his shoulder.
He continued to hold my hand.
And gently glide his thumb over mine.
I don’t remember him leaving that night, but I know he did. He had to work early the next day.
When I finally got up in the morning and logged into my email, there was one from him…just like every day.
“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night. Please forgive me.”
All he had done was hold my hand, but he was concerned he had taken advantage of the situation and of me.
That is the moment I fell for him.
Cortney still holds my hand almost daily. If it’s not while we sit on the couch or while we are walking somewhere, it’s as we fall asleep at night.
His thumb still lightly rubbing mine.