He held two coffees.
“No envelopes?” I asked.
He almost smiled.
“No envelopes.”
I let him inside.
Everything between us felt complicated.
We had slept together before learning that our lives were connected by a maze of old secrets.
“I’m leaving Chicago,” he said.
“Where?”
“Seattle.”
“For work?”
“For distance.”
I nodded.
“That sounds reasonable.”
He looked at me.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You already apologized.”
“I owe you a better one.”
So he gave me one.
No excuses.
No claims that fate had confused him.
He simply acknowledged that once he realized who I was that night, he should have told me immediately.
“I took away your ability to make a fully informed choice.”
I appreciated the honesty.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Was any of it real?”
“The night?”
“Yes.”
I considered the question carefully.
“The part before I learned you had hidden something was real to me.”
