[ 1 2 3 ]	She could have liked Chicago and decided to stay. She could have opened up her own gallery and it could have been a big success. We could have celebrated with a romantic dinner, complete with flowers and red wine. We could have dated for a few months before I asked her to move in with me. She could have jumped for joy, wrapping her delicate arms around me, “Yes!” We could have been happy at first, but she could have started to get lonely. She could have complained that I was never home. I could have said angrily that I was working for her. She could have said she didn’t care and that she wanted to spend time with me. I could have gotten irritated and told her to quit whining. Her bottom lop could have trembled and she could have gone to the closet, getting her suitcases. I could have sat and listened to her cry. I could have run in there and wrapped my arms around her waist. I could have told her that I would change, that things would be better. I could have looked into her tear-filled eyes and whispered that I loved her. She could have said softly, “I love you too.” Things could have gotten better. She could have painted while I wrote, enjoying each other’s company. Gay marriage could have been legalized and we could have rushed to city hall. We could have gotten married in the same synagogue as my parents. My mother could have cried. We could have returned to Prague, for a ceremony with her family and friends. Her mother could have told me that I was one of the family. Her father could have pulled me aside and told me if I ever hurt his daughter, he would break my knees. We could have told the DJ to play the same slow jam that was played our first night together. We could have kept kissing.