The power was out and thunder crackled. Jeff’s roommates were gone, so we had the apartment to ourselves. He barbecued hamburgers and we ate at the dining room table, with candles flickering.
It was about a month after our second first date.
A year since our first.
And then he said it: “I love you.”
I replied: “What do you mean by that?”
It wasn’t the response he expected. But he went with it anyway. I think he knew I needed it. He was unprepared and totally honest. He explained that it wasn’t just a feeling. He was committed. This was long-term and he wasn’t going anywhere.
I exhaled.
And said “I love you” too.
I had wanted to say it back – immediately.
But I had done that before him. Said it back.
And found out that guy’s declaration was completely flat.
There was nothing in it
or behind it.
Not if he could tell me a couple months later that he had “fallen out of love.”
That’s crap.
It was totally false the whole time.
Fake.
Make-believe.
That was not what I mean(t) by love. Not what I believe(d) love is.
So I needed to be sure that it wasn’t just butterflies this time. Excitement. A rush. That he kinda sorta liked me and enjoyed having me as his girlfriend – for now. That it wasn’t just because it was days after 9-11 and he didn’t want to lose me.
I needed to know what I thought was true: that Jeff saw a future for us. I didn’t expect him to predict it and know what would happen.
But.
If he said those words,
I did expect him to fight for a future with us.
Work for it.
Walk with me through it.
Those words aren’t casual.
They aren’t nonchalant.
They actually mean something.
And because I asked for clarity,
because he was willing to answer,
10 years later
I know what he means when he says it.