"I've loved you since I was twenty six years old and I made every mistake a person can make with that love and I lost you because of it." He held her gaze. "I'm not asking you to forget that. I'm not asking you to pretend it didn't happen or to give me anything I haven't earned." He paused. "I'm telling you because you deserve to hear it said plainly. Not implied, not demonstrated, not communicated through phone calls and kitchen tables and whatever we've been doing for months." He paused. "Just said. Out loud. To your face."
The garden was very quiet.
Mei looked at him.
He waited.
That was the thing he'd learned. How to wait. How to offer something and leave the space for the answer without filling it, without managing it, without the particular anxious control of a man who couldn't tolerate uncertainty.
He waited.
"I know," she said finally.
"I know you know," he said. "I'm saying it anyway."
Something moved across her face.
