We had the talk.
I thought when I saw him that I would stiffen, the way I had with some others after things ended but I didn't. It still felt natural to lean into him. But I didn't want to talk right away. I wanted to eat.
After dinner, we moved to a booth by the window and I scooted next to him so we could talk while watching the sudden rainstorm.
It was a very honest and supportive conversation. We talked as friends, without a vested interest in the outcome. The focus was on understanding each other. We talked about fears and hopes and feelings and said we would not make a decision until we slept on it.
I slept on it.
I woke up this morning thinking about how he said he was on the fence: part of him could see diving into us and the other part wondered about exploring what else was out there. He hadn't done that much before being locked away in a long relationship.
I woke up imagining my dear dad holding me, his enormous love expanding into the universe, grounding me and making me feel centered.
He told me what he wished for me: that I would find love and happiness -- all the things you want for your children. The unselfless love of wishing the world welcomes them with joy.
In no part of this dream did my dear dad say, "I wish for you a man who enjoys you but wants others."
And I knew what I had to do.