Four months later, against all better judgment, we were furiously making out on my couch.

I had moved back to Seattle and invited him over to my apartment to share a meal and drinks.  He was dating someone new, he told me.  Nothing was serious yet, but he was excited about the possibility of a great relationship and was starting to picture her in his future.  He must have seen my face fall, and he paused for a moment.

"I'm so sorry what what I did.  I learned from the mistakes I made with you;  I just wish it hadn't been you that I made them with.  I'm going to take what I learned from you to make myself a better partner."

I was not impressed.

"Well this sucks," I said.  "I am back in Seattle now.  We had a great relationship when we were together.  And now you're telling me that you are sorry for messing up my life, and you're going to take what you learned from hurting me and apply it to loving another woman?  What is it that she has that I don't?"

He thought about that for several seconds.

"Youth," he finally said.  "And I really love her kid."

What I had going against me was that, at the age of 29, I was an old hag who had successfully used birth control for the last 11 years.

I must have started to look younger and more motherly as the night went on because he became increasingly confused.

"I don't know if you are keeping me from being with her, or if she is keeping me from being with you.  I have no idea what I want."  He grabbed my hand and held it in his.  "I don't want to hurt you.  What can I do to make this better?"

"Don't lie to me," I said.

He agreed he wouldn't. 

Then before I realized it he was kissing me, hands running through my hair, pulling me closer to him, moaning, "God, I've wanted to do this ever since you opened the door and I saw you again.  You look amazing!  I don't want to leave."