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David handed over his list and Laura began to read. "You think vomiting is the most painful life experience?"
"Sure. Don't you?"
"It's unpleasant maybe. And what's this about losing your belief in Santa Claus?"
"I'm still not over that one."
"You're making of joke of this, aren't you. Like you always do when I ask you about your feelings."
"Well, what did you write?"
She handed him her paper, and he set his glass of wine aside. "'Losing someone you love.' Well, yeah. Sure. When that happens, I vomit. So we're not so different on that one."
"But that isn't what you said."
"Is that what this is about? You don't really want me to tell you what I feel. You just want me to figure out what you feel and then feed it back? Where's the fun in that?"
"Fun? This isn't about fun. This is about our relationship. Our future."
"Can't that be fun?" He reached out to touch her.
She brushed his hand aside. "Stop it."
"Look, I'm not trying to make you angry, babe. I hate this sort of thing--what's your worst memory, what's your best. What's your favorite book, your favorite color? I freeze up. And then weird stuff pops into my head. Magenta. Or cerise, whatever the hell that is. But you should know that by now."
"What makes you cry, David?"
"Why do you want to know that?"
"I just do."
She waited as he rolled his wine glass between his hands. Finally he looked at her with the lopsided grin that had made her fall in love with him. "Did you know that women's tears cause a decrease in men's testosterone levels?"
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"A cosmic one, I suppose."
"What does that mean?"
"That women's tears have been scientifically studied and--"
She batted his words away. "What about men's tears?"
"They had trouble finding men who were good criers."
"See, there you go. Making a joke of the whole thing. Tell me the last time you cried."
"I don't remember."
"You must. If it's such a rare event, you must remember."
"I can't."
"Of course, you can. You just won't."
"I mean, I can't cry."
"Everyone cries."
"Not me."
For a time he sat avoiding her eyes.
"I can't marry you, David."
"You're joking."
"No. I'm really, really sorry."
"When I was eleven."
"What?"
"The last time I cried. It was when I was eleven."
"What happened?"
"Had my feelings hurt, I guess. You know how kids are. Stomping on each others' dreams."
"I suppose."
"Now I dream about you and me. Together for ten years, twenty. Hell, fifty."
"That isn't going to be possible."
"Because I can't cry?"
"Life's going to throw things at us. Good and bad. I need to know I can share all that with the man I marry."
"We'll share. I'll be right here."
"I'm sorry, David."
He looked away and spoke rapidly. "Do you remember what it feels like when you're waiting for something wonderful to happen? Maybe something you know deep down isn't going to, but you hope it will anyway. And, even though you know it's stupid to want it, it still hurts like hell when it doesn't happen."
After a moment, she reached out a finger, and touched the corner of his eye. "Are you crying, David?"
