10:02pm.

He's driving me - speeding down a dark back road. Bringing me someplace I've never been before - his home.

Finally, after three and a half hours sitting next to him without touching him, I pat his hand where it rests between our seats. In an instant he's twisted his hand around and our fingers are laced together, gripping tight. It's been almost three months, and we've missed this.

I watch the dark trees and bright reflectors pass by on the winding road, familar to him and new to me. I hold his hand and choke up, because this is happening.

Twenty minutes of our hands locked together. I finally let go because while pulling in to the driveway he shifts gears while holding the steering wheel with his knee, and that's just ridiculous.

I can't see him when we get out. I can barely see his dog greeting us. The cat he hands me is invisible. But as he leads me up the steps of his house, I know that with him I've come home.