I wasn't actively looking for that person. I was attending Jonah's barbecue on a Saturday afternoon when I met Rebecca Nolan. She was standing beside the cooler reading the label on a strange-looking sparkling drink Jonah had bought in an attempt to impress his guests. She looked at me and asked whether it tasted as terrible as the packaging suggested. I told her I had not been brave enough to try it.
She opened one, took a sip, and said, "You were right to wait. It tastes like somebody described a lime to a glass of old water."
I laughed. We talked for twenty minutes about bad drinks, the difficulty of finding comfortable shoes, and the weird things children say when they believe adults aren't listening. Rebecca was a pediatric physical therapist, thirty-three, and had recently bought a small house across town. She was kind without being performative, funny in a dry way, and remarkably comfortable when conversation paused. We stood near the fence for a while listening to Jonah's neighbors argue affectionately about whether the grill was hot enough, and neither of us seemed compelled to fill the silence.
I told her about my work, the house, and the running trail I was trying to use more often. She told me about a patient who had recently taken his first independent steps after months of practice and the pride on his family's faces. She talked about her job as something that mattered to her, not merely as an obstacle between her and the life she thought she deserved. When Jonah's wife asked us to help carry plates inside, Rebecca picked up a stack without waiting to be thanked. I found myself paying attention to that small, ordinary gesture.
We exchanged numbers. For the first time in months, I felt nervous about a text for a reason that had nothing to do with an argument. I waited until the next afternoon to ask whether she wanted to get coffee. She replied that she would, as long as I promised not to order the awful sparkling drink from the barbecue. We met at a neighborhood coffee shop, arrived on time, and split the bill because she insisted she could pay for her own cappuccino. I was embarrassed by how much I noticed that.
Over the next few weeks, we saw each other slowly. We visited a farmers market, walked through a botanical garden, and went to a small movie theater where the seats were uncomfortable but the popcorn was excellent. I told her early that I had recently ended a relationship under difficult circumstances and was still handling some paperwork from it. She listened without asking for the most sensational details.