Cynthia

We sat chatting for hours, just me, Oliver, Nancy, Luna, and Vox. The five of us sprawled out on the grassy mound beneath the great castle, one of Edinburgh's finest historical monuments. 

We're not talking about anything too heavy. Not today.

It's just a casual one really: Oliver's dating mishaps, or, to quote Nancy, Oliver's "dirty laundry list of hookups, sexcapades and near misses". Oliver takes pride in these stories, jokingly jotting them down on his personal blog: The story of an Ethical Slut. 

Nancy's radio show. 

My adventures with Yuri come up. We'd recently proposed... gotten engaged even. 

And we will get married next year. Or, as close to marriage as we want to go. 

We are pretty much already married. We just wanted to celebrate and commit to one another.  And celebrate our love and family with our friends and family. 

And finally, Luna and Vox's clueless flirting. Both are autistic and are missing the very clear subtext: they like each other and want to date,  though they are too nervous and unsure what the other is thinking. 

This has been going on for months. If it gets to Thanksgiving and they still haven't figured it out, I'm just going to rip the band-aid and spell it out for the adorably oblivious hot messes. 

The others think we should do it now, but they deserve more time to figure it out. For I was in their exact situation. Back when I was with Nickie. 

She had to hold me firmly and tell me, "Yes. I am interested in you. And I want to prove it." Then she kissed me. On the lips. And held me so close. So tenderly. So... clearly. 

Even though we are no longer together, we had this most perfect,  magical memory. And we are still best friends. She even agreed to be my maid of honour. 

So yeah. I know Vox and Luna's situation perfectly. 

Small world. Beautiful world.