February 14, 2023 • 8 mins
A bonus episode (and a re-release) for Valentine’s week - the love story at the core of the best-selling book, It’s OK that You’re Not OK, this podcast, and all of Megan’s work. This episode is unlike our normal weekly show. Tune in, and let us know if you’d like more occasional bonus episodes.
Resources:
This essay first appeared in a slightly different form on Modern Loss
Get in touch:
Want to talk with Megan directly? Join our patreon community for live monthly Q&A sessions. All the info at this link.
Thanks for listening to this week’s bonus episode of Here After with Megan Devine. Tune in, subscribe, leave a review, send in your questions, and share the show with everyone you know. Together, we can make things better, even when they can’t be made right.
For more information, including clinical training and consulting, visit us at www.megandevine.co
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Check out Megan’s best-selling books - It’s OK That You’re Not OK and How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
This is here after, and I'm your host, Megan Divine,
author of the best selling book It's Okay that You're
Not Okay. And this week on the show a bonus episode,
a love story for Valentine's Day or Valentine's Week coming
up right after this first break. Hey, friends, so this week,
(00:26):
since love is on our minds, I mean love is
always on my mind, not just in February, a bonus episode.
If you've been listening to the show since season one,
you may have heard this love story already. It's becoming
an annual tradition to do the main love filled world
episode first and then this bonus episode during the middle
of February. It's a story I wrote a number of
(00:49):
years ago. It's the love story at the core of
this podcast, of my books and pretty much everything I've
done over the last thirteen and a half years now.
There are no usual questions to carry with you at
the end of this bonus episode, just the closing credits.
But if you'd like to hear more personal essay type
(01:09):
bonus episodes, drop us a note and let us know.
All right, friends, there it is the half life of
love we courted for months before we touched, but before
we were courting, there were eyes flicked up, cast down,
not wanting the other to see stealing glances. I traced
(01:31):
the scar on his neck from across the coffee shop.
He noted the books I was reading, watched how I
fixed my tea. Weeks passed by like this. Once officially introduced,
we moved into a slow dance of flirting, not flirting.
We waited for each other, reserving tables in the early
morning rush. We spoke questions meant to learn about each other,
(01:53):
without tipping our hands at more. In those first few months,
he would leave his paper for me to find, saving
half the crossbord puzzle for me, wishing me a good day.
In the margins, I left in messages of random words
underlined to make a poem or a song. We read
books together in our coffee shop, compared notes on cadence
(02:14):
and rhyme. On the night, I finagled my way into
his car because I bought a ride home by simply
jumping in. When I saw him at a stoplight, he
told me we could go no further. There were others involved.
There were commitments he'd made to himself to sever fully
what had come before without muddying the waters was something new.
(02:36):
So back at the coffee shop, we drew lines down
the center of our table, his side, my side, never
mind our feet touching underneath. He had rules. No being
alone together in dimly lit places, no dates after dark, lunch,
but not dinner. He said it was safer that way.
I complied, because I'm good at this, because I can
(02:59):
love without watching. I can't feign non affection, but I
can love without needing to act. We remained reserved. There
were walks around the block, trips to the art museum
in broad daylight, longer walks, more tea. February fourteenth began
like any other day. My notebook scattered around me, a
(03:22):
pot of tea open book. He roared into our coffee shop, flustered, nervous,
dropping his keys. So so I have this meat. ID
frosted this meat for some other dinner, but it got canceled.
So I was wondering. I was wondering, would you would
you like to have dinner tonight? My calm deflected his nervousness, Sure,
(03:43):
I said, my eyebrows raised. I did not remind him
of his rules. Once I gave my assent, he stammered, okay,
I have to start cooking right now then, and ran
out without his keys. When I arrived at his house
that night, john Stone was playing on the stereo. There
were candles lit. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder.
(04:08):
It was a look I would one day associate with home.
He cooked, we ate, played scrabble. When it was time
to go, we stood in the doorway, close but not
touching the threshold literally figuratively, not touching, not kissing, just
space held between us. He walked out into the cold,
(04:34):
snowy night to start my car for me, my old
green Saturn that was on its last legs by then,
stalling out in first gear. No hills allowed anymore. Just
five days later, the scene repeated again, john Stone, scrabble, dinner,
no kissing, no touching, just breath close by held. I
(04:58):
drove off into another night of clear stars, leaving him behind.
He called the next day, inviting me to a movie
in early afternoon matinee. Breaking his rule against being alone
in dim places, we bought popcorn and drinks, settled into
two seats middle row on the aisle, and there in
(05:20):
the dark, he reached over the arm rest and picked
up my hand. He held it in his lap, without speaking,
his eyes never leaving the screen. I missed the first
half hour of that movie. My mind raised with a
touch of his hand, stunned by its weight, by its warmth.
(05:41):
Are joined hands in his lap, unmoving. When the movie ended,
we were still holding hands. We didn't speak. We drove
back to my house. We sat on my couch, and
it's me and all the times I have remembered this,
(06:03):
I do not remember our first kiss. I remember instead
the feel of his hand in the darkness. I remember
his voice once we spoke. I remember lying in his
arms a few short hours later, having hiked up the
bottom of my shirts so our bellies could touch. Lying there,
(06:24):
I told him, if you change your mind on me again,
I'll respect it, but it won't be without damage. You
can't just toy with my heart. I won't change my
mind again, he says, his eyes level with mine, his
voice soft and clear. I can no longer deny my
feelings for you. I already know I love you. I
(06:50):
replay this in my mind. It is ten years now
from that night. He has been head for five. I
say that, and it doesn't seem real. I flashed back
(07:10):
to other times when he was here, when we were new,
Holding hands in the darkness, I flashed back to those
early days, the tension, the sweetness, his rules, the cold,
starry nights, sailing past Valentine's Day. As we round the
corner to touch, I returned to that night, the dark, theater,
(07:35):
the feel of his hand. I hit pause. I pull
our joined hands to my chest, raised them to my lips,
kiss his knuckles. Knowing what I know, knowing what is
to come in just five short years, I whisper, I
(07:58):
already know I love you. Ten years and I would
do it again. I would do it all again. I
would do this all again. Hereafter is produced by me
(08:30):
Megan Divine. Executive producer is Amy Brown, co produced by
Elizabeth Fasio, sound by Houston Tilly, Social support by Micah
and music provided by Wave Crush. Drop us a note
at Megan Divine dot c O and let us know
if you'd like more bonus episodes like this one. My Friends,
This is here after, and I'm your host, Megan Divine,
author of the best selling book It's Okay that You're
Not Okay. And this week on the show a bonus episode,
a love story for Valentine's Day or Valentine's Week coming
up right after this first break. Hey, friends, so this week,
(00:26):
since love is on our minds, I mean love is
always on my mind, not just in February, a bonus episode.
If you've been listening to the show since season one,
you may have heard this love story already. It's becoming
an annual tradition to do the main love filled world
episode first and then this bonus episode during the middle
of February. It's a story I wrote a number of
(00:49):
years ago. It's the love story at the core of
this podcast, of my books and pretty much everything I've
done over the last thirteen and a half years now.
There are no usual questions to carry with you at
the end of this bonus episode, just the closing credits.
But if you'd like to hear more personal essay type
(01:09):
bonus episodes, drop us a note and let us know.
All right, friends, there it is the half life of
love we courted for months before we touched, but before
we were courting, there were eyes flicked up, cast down,
not wanting the other to see stealing glances. I traced
(01:31):
the scar on his neck from across the coffee shop.
He noted the books I was reading, watched how I
fixed my tea. Weeks passed by like this. Once officially introduced,
we moved into a slow dance of flirting, not flirting.
We waited for each other, reserving tables in the early
morning rush. We spoke questions meant to learn about each other,
(01:53):
without tipping our hands at more. In those first few months,
he would leave his paper for me to find, saving
half the crossbord puzzle for me, wishing me a good day.
In the margins, I left in messages of random words
underlined to make a poem or a song. We read
books together in our coffee shop, compared notes on cadence
(02:14):
and rhyme. On the night, I finagled my way into
his car because I bought a ride home by simply
jumping in. When I saw him at a stoplight, he
told me we could go no further. There were others involved.
There were commitments he'd made to himself to sever fully
what had come before without muddying the waters was something new.
(02:36):
So back at the coffee shop, we drew lines down
the center of our table, his side, my side, never
mind our feet touching underneath. He had rules. No being
alone together in dimly lit places, no dates after dark, lunch,
but not dinner. He said it was safer that way.
I complied, because I'm good at this, because I can
(02:59):
love without watching. I can't feign non affection, but I
can love without needing to act. We remained reserved. There
were walks around the block, trips to the art museum
in broad daylight, longer walks, more tea. February fourteenth began
like any other day. My notebook scattered around me, a
(03:22):
pot of tea open book. He roared into our coffee shop, flustered, nervous,
dropping his keys. So so I have this meat. ID
frosted this meat for some other dinner, but it got canceled.
So I was wondering. I was wondering, would you would
you like to have dinner tonight? My calm deflected his nervousness, Sure,
(03:43):
I said, my eyebrows raised. I did not remind him
of his rules. Once I gave my assent, he stammered, okay,
I have to start cooking right now then, and ran
out without his keys. When I arrived at his house
that night, john Stone was playing on the stereo. There
were candles lit. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder.
(04:08):
It was a look I would one day associate with home.
He cooked, we ate, played scrabble. When it was time
to go, we stood in the doorway, close but not
touching the threshold literally figuratively, not touching, not kissing, just
space held between us. He walked out into the cold,
(04:34):
snowy night to start my car for me, my old
green Saturn that was on its last legs by then,
stalling out in first gear. No hills allowed anymore. Just
five days later, the scene repeated again, john Stone, scrabble, dinner,
no kissing, no touching, just breath close by held. I
(04:58):
drove off into another night of clear stars, leaving him behind.
He called the next day, inviting me to a movie
in early afternoon matinee. Breaking his rule against being alone
in dim places, we bought popcorn and drinks, settled into
two seats middle row on the aisle, and there in
(05:20):
the dark, he reached over the arm rest and picked
up my hand. He held it in his lap, without speaking,
his eyes never leaving the screen. I missed the first
half hour of that movie. My mind raised with a
touch of his hand, stunned by its weight, by its warmth.
(05:41):
Are joined hands in his lap, unmoving. When the movie ended,
we were still holding hands. We didn't speak. We drove
back to my house. We sat on my couch, and
it's me and all the times I have remembered this,
(06:03):
I do not remember our first kiss. I remember instead
the feel of his hand in the darkness. I remember
his voice once we spoke. I remember lying in his
arms a few short hours later, having hiked up the
bottom of my shirts so our bellies could touch. Lying there,
(06:24):
I told him, if you change your mind on me again,
I'll respect it, but it won't be without damage. You
can't just toy with my heart. I won't change my
mind again, he says, his eyes level with mine, his
voice soft and clear. I can no longer deny my
feelings for you. I already know I love you. I
(06:50):
replay this in my mind. It is ten years now
from that night. He has been head for five. I
say that, and it doesn't seem real. I flashed back
(07:10):
to other times when he was here, when we were new,
Holding hands in the darkness, I flashed back to those
early days, the tension, the sweetness, his rules, the cold,
starry nights, sailing past Valentine's Day. As we round the
corner to touch, I returned to that night, the dark, theater,
(07:35):
the feel of his hand. I hit pause. I pull
our joined hands to my chest, raised them to my lips,
kiss his knuckles. Knowing what I know, knowing what is
to come in just five short years, I whisper, I
(07:58):
already know I love you. Ten years and I would
do it again. I would do it all again. I
would do this all again. Hereafter is produced by me
(08:30):
Megan Divine. Executive producer is Amy Brown, co produced by
Elizabeth Fasio, sound by Houston Tilly, Social support by Micah
and music provided by Wave Crush. Drop us a note
at Megan Divine dot c O and let us know
if you'd like more bonus episodes like this one. My Friends,
Host
Megan Devine
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