Falling

So this is what Sweet, Smart Scientist said to me last night: "I almost didn't call you after our first date. I mean, you're leaving in a few months. But ... I liked you."

This is after he asked why I went on match.com and replied to my same query, "I'm looking for a long-term relationship. Not a fling."

We both backed away from the conversation like it was a snarling Rottweiler straining against its leash. A bit early to have it, no? But the prospect of having to have that discussion left me with a sinking feeling.

I like Sweet, Smart Scientist. He really is sweet. He really is smart. And funny. And curious, straightforward, self-deprecating, responsible, and just a tad bit weird.

It doesn't hurt that he's tallish (5'11") and has pretty blue eyes.

So what to do?

Thinking out loud, I said last night, "I guess I was willing to have a fling. But I might be constitutionally incapable of having one." I thought about that for a minute. "Well, I don't know. And you don't know. So let's just ... not know." He seemed to agree. Later, parked in front of my building, he asked about getting together on Friday night. We'll probably have dinner. I'm looking forward to it.

And then we sat in his car for a long while. I rested my head on his shoulder. We watched the April snow fall, thick and fast, onto the empty streets.