I got an email from Mr. P, then another, and a text, and suddenly I knew something. Not that everything was going to be alright, but that everything already was alright. Better than alright.
Perfect.
And the very next song on my Pandora was our song, the ever-hokey Marry You by Bruno Mars.
Of course, we're not getting married, even though I've threatened to legislate him into it if I have it.
Congress has to be good for something, right?
I don't know how these things happen, and I know he doesn't believe in God or fate.
But it seems to believe in him.
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