The night I was desperate for Ben to talk to me was the night he was desperate to talk to me. The stars. They kinda aligned. It was not the sign I was asking for that day, but it was a sign. A stranger who cared enough to want to warn me. Ben's intentions were good. But his communication skills—less so.

"The night you told me about Xavier breaking up with you, I saw how upset you were. I concluded that I needed to do something about it."

"It had nothing to do with you. And starting a fight with Xavier would solve what? And it doesn't even seem like something you'd do."

"It wasn't what I was planning on." Ben sighs. "All I wanted was to talk to Xavier."

Ben paces the length of the room, while my feet remain rooted to the same spot. I'm trying to understand what happened. What Ben was thinking, but it's not coming together. I'm stuck between appreciating some misguided noble attempt from Ben to protect my honor and irritation at him for not talking to me about it before going to Xavier or after getting into a fight with him. He knew Xavier was cheating on me.

"Xavier, Mike, and I were at the same martial arts competition. I was there to support Mike. I never compete." Ben gets to the window, turns and heads back to me. "After it was over, I followed Xavier to the car and started telling him how unfairly he had been treating you. I didn't intend to get into Xavier's face, but I was so upset, I started shouting at him, and he punched me in the nose. That caught me off guard. I didn't react in time to block him, so Xavier's fist did a lot of damage, and there was so much blood." Back at the window. Turns. "That's when I lost control, and we started pummeling each other."

There was pummeling. And blood. The stupid men drew blood. Well Xavier started it.

"It's not a good excuse, but Xavier is much taller and heavier than I am, and he kicked me so hard, I lost my balance and fell on the asphalt, almost cracking my head open. Mike told me later that he saw us on his way to the car, thrashing on the ground, covered in blood, beating each other. Mike somehow managed to drag Xavier off me, then called the ambulance and took both of us to the hospital. They diagnosed me with a concussion and had to keep me for observation."

They hit each other so hard it landed them at the hospital. I had no idea Ben was capable of something like that. Even Xavier. He played tough, but kicking somebody in a parking lot? That's inhumane. Xavier was the one in the wrong here. With me. With Ben. With being a decent human being?

"Did you press charges?" I hope he did. Maybe spending a night in jail would scare Xavier against repeating something like this in the future.

"No, nothing like that. We haven't spoken to each other since, and Xavier got kicked out from our martial arts studio, but no police were involved." Ben stops pacing for a second and glances at me. "I'm not quite the knight in shining armor I've imagined myself to be. Admitting to you that I got beaten up by your ex isn't doing wonders for my ego."

His ego is the least of my worries. My head is spinning. Ben met me over a year ago. He didn't tell me. Xavier and Ben know each other. Ben didn't tell me. Xavier cheated on me. Ben didn't tell me. Xavier is the reason Ben was in the hospital. Ben didn't tell me.

A knock on the door interrupts my circling thoughts.

"We are going to join you in a moment," Ben says to the door, but the handle turns, and Tall walks in. That old man doesn't understand boundaries. My anger shifts from Ben onto Tall.

"Ben told you we'll be out in a moment. Let us finish our conversation." I'm seething and I bite off every word, snarling at Tall.

"Sorry." He raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm leaving and wanted to apologize for the way I treated you." I huff. I don't believe any of his pretty words.

"I was out of line." Tall steps closer. "I got carried away. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Forgive him? My heart hasn't forgiven my own mother after months of her apologies. He thinks barging in here with this lame apology is going to matter. Take a number buddy.

Tall ignores my glare, comes over to me and takes my hands in his.

"I'm sorry, my dear child, that our first meeting turned out this way." I try to pull my hands out and take a step back, but he tugs me into his chest and he hugs me. My head crashes against his bony sternum and we wobble for a second, forced to hold on to each other or else we both fall. His arms hold me and I'm forced to take a breath. His smell, his light frame. His warmth. It stirs memories I try not to think about. Dad. Tall's hug feels like Dad's. I need to break free. I can't move.

I hear his words start in his chest. Deep and rumbly, like Dad's. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was selfish. Please forgive me. Let's start over."

The hug. It's a weapon I have a hard time guarding against. My Italian relatives were always hugging. Little blankets of love applied left, right and center. I miss them. I miss the not so gentle contact. The comfort.

Tall's words wound me in another way. They're painfully familiar. Mom sends me a variation on them every day: 'Forgive me, Amélie. I'm sorry, Amélie.' I want to believe him, Believer her. Can I? Can I give in to the hug and the words?

Can I forgive? Releasing the angry bitterness and deciding to trust someone who wronged me is much harder than the inspirational quotes suggest. Forgiveness is not a beautiful peaceful thing that I can bestow on another person. If I forgive, I allow the person an opportunity to be in my life, to matter to me and to hurt me again.

By not forgiving, I can keep a barrier, a wall inside me that is secure and that protects me from further harm. If I forgive, I break the wall. I'm exposed. Again. Vulnerable. Forgiveness is trust.

Tall releases me but keeps holding my hands. He looks tired, and, in place of a fierce opponent that I was fighting with earlier, I see an old man who wanted to protect someone he cared about.

"I understand," I say. I offer no forgiveness. Understanding is all I'm capable of.

"Thank you, and I look forward to getting to know you better. I think we can be friends. But that takes time. I'm not expecting you to like me after what I put you through today." He gives me a sheepish grin that shows me a glimmer of a young man he once was. "Let me try to make up for it. I'm inviting you and Ben to my place for lunch next Saturday. Let's spend some time together and get to know each other. ."

He squeezes my hands. Why are they all squeezing my hands?

"I let you two finish talking and will make sure no one bothers you. "

He lets go of me and leaves us alone in what has now become a confessional.

"Amélie, please don't hold this against Tall. He had good intentions. And it's my fault for not talking to you earlier. I was going to tell you about the fight, I was planning to do it today." Ben's voice squeaks on the last word.

"I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you know Xavier." The anger at Ben over this was short lived. But my disappointment is growing the more I think about it. How I wish he didn't withhold that information. Thoughts about Xavier, Ben, Tall, Dad, Mom bounce against the inside of my skull. My head is killing me. "I thought we were friends."

"You keep insisting on us being friends." Ben walks over, grabs me by the shoulders, and closes his eyes. "When you said you didn't want to be with anyone, I decided I should try to get over you, so I genuinely did want your help with dating. After my dinner date with Linda, I realized I didn't want a date with her or random woman. It's you I'm interested in. I don't want to be just friends with you—I want you to be my girlfriend." He opens his eyes. The greyness of the afternoon turns the bright blue of his irises into dull grey. Sad and wrong. No longer Ben's eyes. "I was going to tell you everything. I wouldn't build a relationship on a lie, especially after what Xavier did. You deserve a much better life. So much better."

Do I? Deserve is a strong word. Do I want better? I do. "Much better," I say.

"A life you dream about." Ben slides his hands down my arms and pulls me closer.

I hear the words but I can't understand them. What is my dream life? My headache grows. The barrage of feelings hurts my chest. I need to stop this, to process, to figure out what this mess means. What's important. Who I want in my life.

"I need to go home. Now." I extricate myself from Ben and press the palms of my hands into my temples. The blood pounds against them. I can't think. "I can't stay here anymore. I need time on my own. Can you, please, take me back to my car? Or should I get a ride?"

"I will take you. Of course." Ben opens the door, collects my coat, and we leave without saying goodbye to anyone.