“Tomorrow night? Six?”
“Okay.”
Walking down the street, I couldn’t believe that ten minutes before I’d felt disappointed. Recovery had been so easy. I had a date with him.
That evening, I had to tell myself over and over that I’d been wrong to expect Glenn to be what he’d been long ago. He’d suffered a loss way beyond mine, been captive to a slow death. All I had was a breakup. I had to be content with his presence, which I reminded myself was as an equal.
Time, of course, slowed to a crawl. Knowing we were going out, even for fast food, gave me something new for a change. Suddenly my situation had meaning, though I realized it unfair to pin that much on a clearly damaged man. But I couldn’t help it.
* * * *
The next day, I spent too much time deciding what to wear.
I worked at looking casual. I changed clothes so often I lost count of how many times because I didn’t want him to know the little kid was still inside the grown man.