Grant told me he had just gone on a vacation alone to Mexico. “Alone?” I asked, teasingly. The effects of two Sapporo beers were kicking in. “How was that?”

“It was great. It was the best thing I’ve done for myself in a long time. I lay on the beach with a stack of books and just relaxed and read.”

I nodded my head in understanding, but I didn’t understand. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than going away on vacation alone.

Sitting there, a half-eaten plate of sushi in front of me, I felt more relaxed than I could remember. When I finally checked my watch, I was surprised to see it was a little before midnight.

Grant paid the check and we agreed we’d better go; we both had to be in the office early the next day. Pushing open the black door, I was immediately hit by the rush of the traffic on Sunset. We made our way over to the valet. This was the first time we had actually stood side by side, and I realized I was about an inch and a half taller than him. My head towered above his. I started thinking that if I wasn’t wearing heels we might be more eye to eye, but even in sneakers I would be taller.

Grant took my valet ticket and handed both of them to the valet, slipping him a twenty. Nice. I always took the guys who had “grabbed a meter” to be a sign.

We both stood there awkwardly waiting for our cars. I decided to be quiet and to let him dictate on what note this date would end. But then I burst out with, “Do you like what you do?”

He seemed surprised by my question. He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Of course I love writing. I just worry sometimes about the pace of it. It can really be draining. Sometimes when I’m working on something and having a tough time, it’s like looking directly into the sun.”

“I know. It makes your head hurt.”

“Exactly. I just try to push through, and I remind myself that even the most talented and successful writers struggle. It’s not easy for anyone.”

“You think?” I asked. I never had anyone to talk to about this stuff. I was always too busy trying to convey that I was supremely confident when I was actually a mess of insecurity.

The valet whipped around the corner of the lot with my BMW, pumped a bit too heavily on the brakes, and jerked the car to a stop right in front of us.

“Well, here I am,” I said, starting to make a step away from Grant and toward the black asphalt of the parking lot. I could just make out the headlights of another car being brought around by the valet, slowly pulling behind my BMW.

“And here I am,” he said, mimicking my singsong line.