“I’m really proud of you.”

 “Eh, thanks.”

I was driving us back from a trip to the beach for Katherine’s birthday and she was sleeping hard in the back seat, giving us the chance to talk during the ride.  We were talking about past relationships and I had just finished talking about the things I had just done to assure myself that I was really taking steps and moving forward from an old relationship. 

“Well, in the spirit of being really proud… you aren’t wearing your wedding ring anymore.  And, I’m guessing that was a really big deal.  So, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.  Not that it matters, but did you just notice?”

“No.  I noticed the other night when you guys were at the house for dinner and we were washing dishes together.  Why?”

“It wasn’t on when you were at my house the other week either.”

“Oh.”

Over the past several weeks, we had been texting and talking about a whole plethora of stuff in our worlds.  We had been to a mutual friends wedding and talked politics, religion, and relationships on the ride home.  We had walked through his dad’s battle with cancer and the funeral that soon followed.  We had swapped various secrets over some more Texas Chicken Tenders and learned to be comfortable with each other.  We had grabbed breakfast (and lunch) (and dinner) together a few times along the way and somewhere in there I knew he was it for me.  I also knew he wasn’t there yet.  And being just his friend was getting to be really hard. 

Yet, there we were.  In the car coming home.  Talking about moving forward and the more I talked, the more I prayed that I wasn’t somehow encouraging him to move forward with someone who wasn’t me…