Wistful

"If you can't vent to a boyfriend, who can you vent to?"

I heard the slight uncertainty in his voice behind the word boyfriend. I hope he couldn't see the small flinch I felt transmitted through my muscles. I wasn't ready for that label yet. I acknowledged his comment with a smile and changed the subject.

Later he kissed me goodnight by my back door. I stepped away. "I thought you were leaving." "You're making that difficult," he replied. The exchange was familiar to me--a flirty coda that I'd initiated other times with other men. But this time I didn't feel wistful when he was gone.