...Let’s not

I met L when I was in college. I started a job at a grocery store, and we worked in different departments. We danced around it for a good moment, but eventually one of us messaged the other and we got to talking.

For the first conversation, I was on my way through a bottle of vodka, and for the next she told me later that she was more than a couple beers in. For a while, she would come over to my department when her shift ended and we would talk for a while. It felt awkward in a lovely way. I realized afterward how many of those conversations were around the beer section and which ones were our favorites.

We went on dates, we held hands, and I met her dogs. It felt like the beginning of something, but for whatever reason it wouldn't get over the next speedbumb. Like we didn't have enough momentum.

She told me she was almost engaged to another girl, not that long ago. I was the first person she'd tried to date afterward. She told me she tried to kill herself. She told me she'd been nervous to message me, because our boss had a bet going that I wasn't into girls.

I told her that I matched her insecurity, and that I was terrified of being out. I told her my parents didn't know, and I didn't know if I'd ever want them to. I told her about my therapy. These were things we thought were fine for ourselves and each other. We'd said that, anyway.

Texts got vague, and conversations got short. Plans for dates hung in the air and drifted away when we ignored them. When we finally addressed it, the consensus was, "let's not fall in love..."