I meet you in a bar. Of course I do. It’s dimly lit and warm, with wine. You’ve come down here to me, and you are sitting in a barseat with an expectant drink, your back to the door when I walk in. You have on a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and casual boots. You’re fidgeting with your straw, or the condensation on the glass.

I am wearing something cool and comfortable. A pretty blouse with jeans, boots, and my favorite jacket. I did my hair so that I wouldn’t play with it too much. Right now it’s pretty and long. It curls just enough and casually catches the light. Soft jewelry and makeup. I feel calm and ready.

I walk up to you and touch your shoulder. You look back at me with a look that is half nervous, half disinterested. There’s a warm sea between us of uncertainty and long-awaited guesses. We aren’t sure whether or not to hug, so we only sort of do. That weird shoulder thing you do with coworkers at Christmas parties. We are all business at this point.

But we both smile, and search each other’s faces, briefly. Trying to read one another’s first impression. I remind myself to just be myself. I’m not sure what’s running through your head.

I talk to break the ice. Ask you simple things, and order a glass of wine. Your drink is almost done, so you order another. When you look away, I steal glances at your skin. Search for familiar marks, catch glimpses of memories. You ask me questions in kind, and I respond. It’s not an easy rapport, as much as we’d like it to be.

My hand reflexively wants to touch you. Feel you out for anything. A dormant spark. Any sort of remembrance.

Your last girlfriend is heavy in the back of my mind. I can’t help but wonder if she is in the back of yours, too. I feel compelled to tell you that I’ve searched for you in the past. That I’ve seen bits of your life, and have pieced together the parts you aren’t telling me. I have so many questions about things that are none of my business. They get in the way of me enjoying this moment, and you.

So I don’t hold back. There’s no reason to. I ask everything in case it helps to shatter this barrier. You aren’t sure you should tell me, but the alcohol is a good lubricant. It begins to pour out. I feel like a therapist’s pillow, just for a moment.

I tell you about my in-betweens. Work. New York. Men. Jenn and the babies and the now. Me flying and writing and shifting gears, hopefully for the last time. You are quiet, and either thinking about what I’m saying, or hoping this will all be over soon.

We switch to lighter topics. You and your simple dreams. Me and my complicated ones. The things that could be but aren’t for sure yet. You probably want to sleep with me, but aren’t interested in anything more. At least, that’s the conclusion I come to. But that’s what I thought the first time I met you, too.

And here we are. In some sort of odd homecoming. You trying to figure out why we are here. And me waiting for the answer.