You Think It, I'll Say It

by Curtis Sittenfeld

From the minute I entered the restaurant and saw him sitting in the booth—when we made eye contact, he smiled, waved, and stood—I understood that Isaac was not gay.

In the diner, I wished I could increase the speed of my conversation with Isaac, not because I wanted to get it over with but because I wanted both of us to cram in the maximum amount of words before I started my shift, because I felt we had such an enormous amount to say to each other.

Then I scroll through old messages, reread the one she wrote about Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante in E-flat Major for Violin, Viola and Orchestra, and listen to the piece in its entirety, while working on a brief. No message from her has arrived by the time the music concludes, but one comes in a minute later: Take care of yourself, William.