He was an 80-year-old widower whose first message asked whether I preferred crossword puzzles in pen or pencil.
She uploaded my photograph.
“Pen,” I replied. “I’m old enough to live dangerously.”
“Then we’d get along,” he replied.
***
We exchanged messages every evening.
He remembered that I grew roses and asked about my granddaughter’s new job.
“Then we’d get along.”
When I mentioned my mustache, I held my breath waiting for his response.
Instead, he wrote:
“Please don’t ever shave it. I think you’re beautiful exactly as you are.”
I read those words three times.
Then I cried.
I mentioned my mustache.
Not because Walter had failed to love me.
Because I’d spent so many years refusing to believe him.
***
Arthur brought my favorite lemon cookies to our first date.
When I caught him looking at my face, I touched my upper lip automatically.
I’d spent so many years refusing to believe him.
