“I wrote that last letter because I knew if we kept talking, there was a chance I would run back to you.”

“And cutting me out completely seemed better?”

“No.”

A sad smile crossed his face.

“I thought it was the responsible thing to do.”

He sighed.

“I was wrong.”

I held his hand.

“Did Margaret know?”

“Eventually.”

“What did she say?”

Jeffrey smiled.

“She said we were two of the stupidest people she had ever heard of.”

I laughed.

Jeffrey laughed too.

Even Peter smiled.

“She sounds smart,” I said.

“She was.”

Margaret had died several years earlier.

After her death, Jeffrey considered contacting me many times.

But every time, he stopped himself.

“I didn’t know if I had the right anymore.”

“You could have tried.”

“I know.”

I shook my head.

“So we lost more than forty years because everyone kept deciding what was best for everyone else.”

“Pretty much.”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Also true.”

We sat quietly for a moment.

Then something occurred to me.

“Jeffrey.”

“What?”

“I’m sixty.”

His eyes widened.

Then slowly, he smiled.

“So you are.”

“We had a deal.”

Jeffrey lifted his hand.

His fingers were trembling.

“If we’re both single at sixty…”

I wrapped my pinky around his.