Twice a week became three times a week. Brian found himself assuming that I would ultimately either reject him or become overwhelmed. I did neither. But did I love him? And if not, why not? Was he fundamentally unlovable, as he had suspected while growing up? Three times a week sitting up became four times a week on the couch. Was the real issue whether or not he was lovable, or was it whether or not he himself could ever truly love someone else? With the lifestyle he had been leading, this was impossible to know. Having already abandoned cocaine, he decided that he wanted to know the truth about himself and "went all the way," giving up his job, the "golden cage of self-indulgence" in which he had become entrapped. He took a "real" job in the garment district, for much less money, recognizing that the truth required "reality, not a cartoon version of life." He gave up the sports car, his dynamite apartment, and the meaningless sex. He did not become depressed or lose interest, as he had feared. Neither did I (as he had also feared). He met a girl who seemed quite different from anyone else he had ever known. She was witty, caring, and sincere. He discovered that making her happy gave him a previously unknown pleasure. He knew he really, really liked her but was not sure if he loved her—still not knowing if, indeed, he was capable of love. Yet this was as close as he ever had been to love, she clearly loved him, and they brought out the best in each other. So he married her.