Halfway through dinner, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and asked whether I'd mind if she checked a message from her sister, who was traveling home that night. I told her of course not, and she sent a brief reply before placing the phone back in her bag. She returned to our conversation without apologizing for having other people in her life, and without leaving me to compete with them for the rest of the meal.
When we walked outside, I realized she hadn't checked the phone again. That detail should not have seemed remarkable, but it did. I didn't want to praise Sarah for the bare minimum or punish Marissa in my head for another woman's ordinary courtesy. I wanted to notice what it felt like to be present with somebody who was present with me.
We agreed to meet again. I told her I was recently out of a serious relationship and didn't want to rush into another one before I understood what I was ready for. Sarah said she appreciated knowing that and was comfortable taking things slowly if we kept being honest. I walked home with the strange, hopeful feeling that the pace of a new relationship could be chosen rather than guessed at.
The next few weeks gave us space to learn more than the version of ourselves we brought to dinner. Sarah had a habit of leaving every cupboard door open while she cooked, which would have driven me crazy if I hadn't found it funny. She thought I worried too much about being exactly on time, and she was right more often than I liked. We disagreed about a movie, changed our minds about a restaurant, and once canceled a planned walk because I was exhausted after work.
That cancellation mattered to me. I texted her an hour before we were supposed to meet, said I was sorry, and asked whether we could choose another evening. She replied that she hoped I got some rest and suggested two alternatives that worked for her. I didn't have to provide proof that my tiredness was genuine, and she didn't have to pretend she wasn't disappointed that the plan had changed.
I tried to return that same consideration. When Sarah's museum held a fundraiser, she told me she'd be working most of the evening and might not have time to talk. I attended for a little while, met some of her colleagues, and left after telling her I was proud of what she'd helped organize. She kissed me goodbye beside a display case, then went back to making sure the event ran smoothly, and I felt happy that she had something important to do.
There were moments when I caught myself preparing for an argument that never came. Sarah mentioned spending a Saturday with friends, and I almost said I didn't mind, as though she had asked permission. Instead, I asked what they were planning and told her I'd see my brother that afternoon. She asked about his wife, remembered the name of their dog, and suggested we could meet for breakfast on Sunday if we both felt like it.