He held open the front door for me, and I, somewhat reluctantly, walked in. Even as I walked across the threshold, I was cold. He followed me inside with adorable red ears. We had been dating for a week, everything was amazing, like a dream. I walked further into his apartment, noticing the ever-present chill. Entering the living room, I take off my scarf and leave it on the table as you go out to make drinks. I saw the orange and red leaves on the ground, in the beautiful Autumn morning, undisturbed.

Looking around your apartment, not with my hands, but with my eyes, there was something comforting about it. It was very homely. I liked the dark wood floors, with a small, white circular rug. I liked the three beige walls, and the one red wall. I liked the comfortable sofas and even the tea stains that were spilt on them. I liked the tiny television; proof that you don’t need some sort of 60’’ flatscreen. I liked the huge bookcase which took up most of one wall. I had never, ever met a guy who read before. Standing up to take a closer look, I see books like “The Taming of the Shrew” and “The Tempest”. I remember both of those books, myself. I saw photographs in frames on the walls; him with his sister, his brother, his mother, his father. No broken family here.

He walked back in, so cautiously that it was almost comical. With my help, two hot chocolates, covered with cream and marshmallows, were soon resting on the side. He told me about his family, as I listened carefully to his humorous stories. He told me so much, so many stories that, one hour later, after promising to return later, I practically had to run out of the door and down the path, phoning a taxi so that I could get to work. He came down the path after me, taking the phone out of my hand, telling me that he would take me. I don’t usually take instructions well but, with ten minutes to get to work, I was hardly in any position to complain.

In the car, it was almost complete silence but it was comfortable. I watched his tense expression on the road, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, the way he hesitantly looked at the radio, and then me. He dropped me off outside the doors. “Thank you!” I practically screamed as I rushed out of it, giving him a slight kiss on his soft cheek, despite the coldness freezing my lips.

*****

I don’t drive. Not very well anyway, with my lack of concentration. My concentration had declined even more when she was in the car. I almost missed several red lights due to by intent focus on her. I liked the way she looked nervously outside the windows, the way she looked nervously at me. She kept tapping her leg, as well, with her hands, signifying her impatience.

Now that I’m back in my apartment, I’m relaxed. I turn on the television, no hope of being able to go back to sleep now, which had a screen so small that you were barely able to see it. The whole day, as I looked at the scarf she left here, my thoughts were with her and her quiet intensity, her fierce passion, her undeniable dedication.

*****

Days passed quickly with him. I guess that time does fly by when you’re having fun. By the time a month had passed, I felt as if I had known him for years. I had almost forgotten about my favourite scarf, which I had worn almost everyday until I left it as his. It didn’t matter, anyway. When we were at his apartment, we danced, laughed, sung, read, spoke, whispered. When we were in his car, we sung at the tops of our voices, getting lost upstate. His apartment, his car, both filled with memories.

I met his family. They were all incredibly lovely to me. They made me feel as if I belonged. His mother told me stories about him, with pictures on the kitchen counter side, as his cheeks were turning red. I discovered that he used to have glasses, that he was on of the very smart kids. He still was. His father and older brother teased him, complimented me. His sister was quiet, distant but polite, hovering in the background, serving tea and coffee with a smile.

“So, what’s your family asked?” His mother asked me, the first hitch of the evening. I didn’t know what to see; I don’t talk to them. Out of choice. I opted out of the family. Thankfully, his sister saved me.

“Ashley, could you come and help me with these?” She asked, pointing at the drying up that was to be dry. At first, when I met his sister, I thought that she may not have liked me that much, that she was only putting up with me for her brother’s case. Now I knew that this probably wasn’t the case. She was quiet, shy, but perceptive. She sensed that I didn’t want to talk about it, and she didn’t pry.

It was a great evening. If you ignore the fact that it made me think about what I was missing out on with my family, what I had always missed out on. If you realise that I might get a second chance, with him and his family.

*****

One month. I hated to admit it but it had been my longest relationship. I never planned to get tied down. Even when I first met her, I thought that it would only last a week or two. A week passed. Then two. We were still together. Still… Happy.

One month. It almost seemed too long. My apartment had so much of her stuff, she spend most days, most night over there. She was unofficially moved in. She didn’t seem to notice, though. My family liked her. She was nice, respectable, she had a good, established career, she was beautiful, healthy, caring, funny. She was too good for me and I knew it.

*****

We got back to his apartment at 9 o’clock. He seemed really off. He was just too distant, too cold, quiet, thoughtful. I was unsure about whether I should stay at his or go home. Home. His apartment was practically my home. I hadn’t been home in just over a week. This had progressed much quicker than I had expected, I was never one for a whirlwind romance. But something about this just felt right.

Entering his apartment, I remember how different the energy was to last night’s energy. Dancing down the stairs, in the front room, the kitchen, the refrigerator light. How easy it had been last night, how difficult it was now.

Climbing into his bed, next to him, I wrapped my arms gently around him and asked what was the matter. He brushed me off. Which only made me more determined to solve the problem. He had always been so much more lively. He said he was just tired and yet he sat up, not even attempting to go asleep. The silence was no longer comfortable, it was awkward. I thought, maybe, he was embarrassed about earlier. I sat there, telling him embarrassing stories about me, thinking that he was my future.

Then, a mere half an hour later, he turns the bedroom light on and says to me very softly, “we should talk.”