OK.  Now it’s my turn.  The ‘meeting of friends’.

I told FfI that we were ‘on’ for dinner.  She suggested Friday or Saturday.  F agreed to either.  Now, all we have to do is fix it up.  With any luck FfC will be there too as I would love him to meet her as well.

I decided during the day that I really should be home with the dogs – at least for one night or, even better, every other night.  I thought that, as the cleaner would be in and the place would be reasonable, I should invite him over.

And then I thought about A and whether I would invite A to come too.

About 4 p.m. I sent F a text to ask if he would like to come over and stay at mine so that I could spend time with the dogs.  I promised him a cheap pizza (at Time Out 2 (Via Eustachi)).

Just after 5, I sent another text to say that I was leaving work.  I had had no reply.  As I was driving back I checked my phone regularly.  Nothing.  I started to worry.  Perhaps he didn’t want to stay at my place?  Perhaps he was just being kind and now working out a way to say ‘no’?  In my mind I went through the conversation (another one of those ‘serious’ ones about how he should always tell me the truth – even if he thinks it would hurt me because the truth was so much better than lies or half-truths).  The conversation that, probably, would never happen, like most that go through my mind.  Like the other conversations.

I got out of the car and walked the short distance home.  Because of my problems with 3 (who have got to be almost the worst telephone company in the world, now close to beating Telecom Italia), I texted V to see if he was receiving my texts.  At least, then, I would know if F had got my texts.  V replied that, yes, he got it OK.

I got into the flat and said hello to the dogs and the cleaner.  Offered the cleaner tea, as usual but he said he was in a hurry.

Then, F phoned me.  I was so relieved to see it was him calling but also there was a tinge of fear as to what he would say.  Instead, he asked what he should do – go home first or come straight to me!  I said he could come straight to me but he would need shower gel and a toothbrush.  He said OK.  He said it would be better because if he went home and had a shower, he would not want to come out later.  If the cleaner had not been there I think I would have shouted ‘YES!!!!’.  The cleaner was there.  Inside I shouted, at the top of my internal voice, ‘YES!!!!!’.

I decided that I would not phone A after all.  This time would be for us.

A called.  ‘What are you doing tonight?’, he asked.  I explained that F would arrive in about 10 minutes but that we intended to go out for a pizza and he could come too, if he would like.  It would mean that he could meet F.  He said OK and he would call shortly to confirm it would be OK, after I had told F.

F arrived.  It is so difficult to explain in words how happy I am to see him, every time.  I look at his face, his eyes.  I want to hold him.  We hug and kiss almost before he has got in through the door!  I tell him about A calling.  He says OK.

A calls and I tell him to come here and we can have a quick drink before going for a pizza.  I so want A to like F and vice versa.

We have a glass of wine and sit in the lounge.  Dino is over excited.  First there is F and he hasn’t really got used to him yet.  Then there is A and so, two new people.  I sit on the footstool and try and give Dino enough affection to ensure he doesn’t bother the other two.  They talk almost exclusively in Italian.  I understand some of it.  I think: I wonder if they will talk about me or talk about what F thinks of me?  But, F thinks that I understand more than I do, so maybe not.

They seem to get on.  F is charming and they have a long (I also hope good) conversation.  We go for a pizza.

F orders beers, even if A doesn’t really want beer.  Well, it’s not that he doesn’t want beer, really, and so, I think he is quite pleased, secretly.

F starts to translate the menu.  I’m not sure that it’s for me really, but more to check his English.  For me, of course, it is not necessary.  I translate some of the words for him.  I have explained that food translation is, generally not a problem, as it is my favourite subject!

F says that he knows which pizza I will have.  I am surprised that he thinks he knows.  But then he correctly guesses – Diavola – with salame piccante – ‘hot’ salame although for you English and Americans you wouldn’t really notice it was ‘hot’!  I am surprised and then think that, actually, I almost always choose this pizza.  I choose to have Volcano (Diavola with an egg).

Sometimes F can be quite ‘strong’.  As usual, he orders everyone’s food.  I find this endearing – as if he needs to order for me because I can’t speak Italian. But I also find it strange that he should order for A.  Normally this is A’s job.  But I quite like that F is strong enough that he just does it and A doesn’t complain.

They do a lot of talking in Italian.  I notice (notice being a strange thing to say but, just for a moment it seems like it is ‘just notice’, like for the first time, even if this is not true) F’s hands.  I want to hold them.  They seem small and delicate and lovely and sweet and I want to grab his hand and kiss it and kiss the palm, like I do when we’re alone.  And as I write this I realise I didn’t do that last night and know that I should have.  He likes it.

But, I notice the hands; his hands; his beautiful hands.  I look at his face as he speaks to A.  It’s true, he is not the most beautiful man in the world but, to me, he is.  I am sitting next to him and listening to him talk to A and thinking that we are not close enough; we can never be close enough or, at least, not right now.

We finish the pizzas.  I stretch my arm over the back of F’s chair, resting my hand on the back but now being able to stroke his back with my thumb.  It will do but even this act makes me want more!  I notice that there is a mirror by the side of him so that all the other people in the restaurant can see what I am doing, if they were to look; I find that I really don’t care.  I am proud to be with him; to have him here at my side; to let everyone know that I adore him.

A is hungry – which is not really a surprise.  F wants a sweet.  They bring the sweet menu.  A doesn’t normally have a sweet but will in this case.  He would prefer another pizza.  The sweets arrive.  I leave some of mine, partly because I am not really hungry and partly because I know that F will eat it – but only if I say I don’t want any more.  It’s what A’s F does with A.  I wonder if she does it for the same reason?

A is still hungry.  Again F is very strong – and how I love this!  He insists that A has another pizza.  A fights this – but not too hard and, anyway, F makes it like ‘fun’ and tells the waitress that A lost a bet and now has to eat another pizza.  F and I have another beer.  Then F & I have a mirto – this is nowhere near as good as the Sardinian restaurant of Friday night but still……

A doesn’t want a mirto – until we have ours.  So a third is ordered.  F complains that he hates the glasses (tall and thin) because it is difficult to drink with his nose the way it is.  He does have a large, Italian nose.  I see how it is difficult.  I think: even his nose is beautiful.

He kisses me in front of A – not something I would normally do but F is less frightened of showing affection than me and, anyway, I like it and not only let him do it but reciprocate willingly.

It’s not a long, lingering kiss – that will come later when we’re on our own.  But it’s still there.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see A, a little uncomfortable and think: well, you need to get used to it because this is what F does and why not?

We leave.  I think A likes him.  F does ask me, at one point, if he is being ‘too much’.  I tell him that no, I don’t believe so.

I know I am biased, but I loved him for being so wonderful with A and told him so.  I hope that he feels the same about me with his friends and think that, probably, he does.  As he has said from the beginning, really, we all want the same thing – and both of us are working hard to fit into each others lives – and it is such a pleasure; it gives us such pleasure to do so.

This morning, I do my new plan, allowing him to sleep for over an hour more.  It’s not enough for him but it’s better than nothing.

I drive him home this morning.

As I drive down the road to work, I watch him in the rear-view mirror, walking away from me but not out of my life.  No, no, not at all.