Then she surprised me by walking up and hugging me from behind, pulling me to her and wrapping her arms around my waist. We stood for a while, talking to the other people making breakfast, who tried not to notice or comment. I felt her head on my shoulder and I leaned in close, with my hands on hers. It was really nice, thinking she might be feeling something like what I was feeling.
Much later, I remember saying to her, "You know, I've learned with you it's not what you say, but what you don't say that's really important." Even to that, her response was a nod, and that cloud of chatter she used to avoid talking about difficult things.
She got a new job in Silicon Valley, and I volunteered to drive her car out to her. I didn't think about what 3000 miles would do to whatever it was we had. And I drove across the continent as she flew over on the company dime.
In California, I remember the warm, happy feeling I felt inside as I ran errands while she was at work: stocking her fridge, getting her keys duplicated. When she came home, we set up the bedroom in her apartment, arranging things so they couldn't easily fall on her in an earthquake.