I was 21 years old and working as managing editor of a weekly newspaper. I had just gotten out of a three-year relationship and I wasn’t dating anyone. As I worked alone at my office on a Sunday afternoon, a young woman dropped by to see me.
She was on her way back to her college after a weekend visit home. We had had a flirtatious relationship but it hadn’t been anything serious. Now that I wasn’t dating anyone, though, she had come to see whether I’d be interested in turning our flirtation into something serious.
I felt conflicted. I was attracted to her, but I knew I wasn’t going to date her. Maybe I wasn’t really completely over the relationship that had just ended, I told her. She understood. I kissed her as she left and we remained friends.
We both moved on to other relationships and I didn’t think any more about the conversation. I assumed she hadn’t thought about it for years, either. About a month ago, I realized that I lied to her that day — but only because I had lied to myself.
I decided it was time to call her — after all these years — and explain what had really happened.

I’ll never really know my mother and I’m envious of those who do
Well, if you really want to know, this is what I’m still looking for
Federal checks are destroying incentive to take entry-level jobs
Envy drives hatred for wealthy, but I want to earn my riches
Fear of possible violence keeps some people trapped by misery
Who was this attractive woman? Why did her story not ring true?
Hugs from a sweet little girl can erase stress after long work day
No ebooks for me: Reading is about more than simply absorbing data