I FELL IN LOVE BEFORE I UNDERSTOOD HOW AFRAID I WAS
As the months passed, Eleanor became sicker.
And I became part of the routine.
Appointments at Willowcrest Medical Center.
Infusions.
Specialists.
Lab work.
Emergency visits.
Hospital cafeterias.
Parking garages.
Waiting rooms.
I learned which elevator at Willowcrest always seemed to be broken.
Which vending machine stole dollar bills.
How to sleep upright in a chair.
I learned Eleanor wanted silence when she was nauseated—
but conversation when she was hurting.
And eighteen months after we met—
I proposed.
THERE WAS NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT THE SETTING
Eleanor had been discharged from Willowcrest Medical Center that afternoon.
She didn’t have enough energy to sit at a table.
So we were eating Chinese takeout on the floor of my Bellmere apartment.
I reached into my pocket.
Pulled out a ring.
She stared at it.
Then at me.
Then started crying.
I thought:
Yes.
Instead, Eleanor whispered:
“No.”
I actually laughed.
“No?”
“I can’t marry you.”
“You definitely can. I checked. Bellmere still recognizes marriage.”
“Ethan.”
“What?”
She pushed the ring toward me.
“I love you too much.”
I stared at her.
“That may be the most confusing rejection in human history.”
She didn’t smile.
