Steve's main course was filet mignon sautéed in a red wine sauce with capers, fresh mushrooms, and garlic, accompanied by grilled mixed vegetables and cranberry wild rice. Not bad Steve, and all served with a smile. But I had this nagging feeling like there was something wrong-something bad was about to happen.

And then I flashed on Eric, my best friend sitting across from me. God, I loved him, seeing him smile and charm himself through the dinner conversation-but was he going to drop a bomb this evening? So far everyone else had, why would he be any different? He talked to Mike and his date Prudence with great ease, offering his joke, "why did the blonde open the fridge and stare blankly forward at the orange juice box? Because the container said, 'concentrate.' " Prudence didn't find it that funny-in fact, I could tell she was slightly offended by it in her late teenager tone of "you are so square" attitude.

But that didn't stop Eric from trying to make her feel comfortable. I watched him, his caring eyes wanting to make her feel welcome.

Or was he hitting on her?

I realized this, our first social function since his return from the clinic, was as hard for me as it was for him. Would I ever be able to fully trust him again? Would he be able to make love to me, alone, for the rest of his life? Would I be able to honor that same commitment?

I do believe that we as human beings are not afraid of our own failure, we are afraid of our own power. It is easier to say, "no, it will never work," than "hell yes, I'll MAKE it work." It's a hard challenge, but it's exactly what Eric and I committed to when we decided to stay together.

The bottom line? I love him. But if he hurts me again, I'll cut his balls off.

The more I looked at him on this special evening, I could tell he was nervous about something. But what the hell was it? I felt like the last one in on some kind of secret, and I wasn't sure what the punch line was going to be.

"What?" he asked, looking at me.

"Nothing," I responded. "It's just...you look like you just ate the canary. What's going on?"

"You'll see."

Oh, great. Suddenly I flashed on my Aunt Margo who whenever she was angry and you'd ask her what was wrong, she'd simply say, "you'll see." The result would inevitably be a screaming match later filled with the requisite calling of names, profanity, and if she had too much coffee-throwing of objects.

But what didn't make sense was Eric's smile after he said, "you'll see." It was his sly smile, his edgy grin of mischief that made me a tad nervous and excited.

I glanced over at Steve and saw him talking to Hillary. He looked good, but I did notice he was sweating.

What was Steve so nervous about and why did I feel a level of concern for him? And then I saw Eric stand up, push his chair away from him as everyone stared, and he got on one knee in front of me.