With a curt nod, he retrieves a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “These are some of the questions she asked me.”
I unfold the paper and peruse the scribbled words. “But there are no answers.”
“I might lie to myself,” he says, “but to you I can’t. So, ask me.”
I glance at Sonya. Having a stranger sitting in on something so personal is admittedly undesirable for me, but True evidently feels more confident doing this with her here, so for the sake of a potentialus, I’ll roll with it.
“Okay, um….” I look down at the paper again. “Did you love Jenna?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like Jenna?”
“Yes.”
“Were you in love with Jenna?”
“No.”
“When you were with her, did you think about being with other women?”
“Yes.”
“Did you feel remorse whenever you cheated?”
“I would regret hurting her, but not the act.”
“Why did you keep her?”
“Because she brought me comfort.”
“Why did you love her?”
“Because she accepted me.”
“When she finally left, did you try to get her back?”
“No.”
“Were you heartbroken?”
“Sad and disappointed, yeah. But I don’t remember feeling hurt.”
“How long after she left did it take you to sleep with someone else?”
“Um…” He scratches the back of his neck and drops his gaze to the floor. “Same night.”
“Wow. That’s… wow.” I shove the paper back at him. “I don’t think I can—”
“Please, London.” He grips my hand and squeezes in earnest. “Please.”
“If it is too much for you, London,” Sonya interjects, “then only ask the questions youwantthe answers to. The questionsyouthink will help with your decision to go forward with him or not.”
This is hard. But he’s trying because he wants to commit to me. As unconvinced as I feel about the possibility that he can commit, I dig deep for fortitude and push forward. Taking Sonya’s advice, I skip over the questions where the answers would probably upset me and ask the ones where the answers will help me.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”