“Well, I hope you’re satisfied, Miss Simon,” he said, and nimbly snatched the box from my hand, then stuffed it back into his pocket. I was too emotional to say anything. I was experiencing many “feels” as the kids on Tumblr—my computer-savvy friend CeeCee has told me about it—often say. I felt panic and joy and shame over my behavior, but also exultant over the fact that the ring box wasn’t large enough to have caused all the hardness I’d felt against me while we’d been making out earlier. So I’d been right: he had been happy to see me. “But Jesse,” I said, when I finally found my voice. “I thought we’d agreed we were going to wait until we were both finished with our education, and then get married, because of your nineteenth-century macho man bullshit idea that you have to support me. Which of course is ridiculous since I fully intend to support myself. And you.” “Yes,”
