He lied to the rabbi. Well obviously, he lied to the rabbi about being Jewish. And about being Dr. Schulman. But more importantly, he lied to the rabbi about never lying. He realized he had been lying to himself for some time. He wasn't sure if that counted as official lying in Judaism. But it counted for Danny.

If he's really being honest with himself, he knew it all along. Maybe not the day he met her, but not long after that. She is literally the opposite of everything he ever thought he wanted. She is loud when things should be quiet. She is colorful in questionable ways, risky ways. She smothers him when he should be left alone.

And he should be left alone.

When he first met her, he wanted nothing of her. She was just an annoyance in his perfectly-structured existence. And now he realized, he deserved nothing of her. He was dark and closed, and she was everything bright and open. But even if she could look beyond his innate failings, he had hurt her. And that's what hit him hardest. It made him want to run back into the subway, get on a train and never look back. Seeing her walk across the street in her yellow coat, like a unicorn – a magical thing floating in the middle of Manhattan – all he could think about was how much he didn't deserve her.

He briefly considered taking the train route – just buying a ticket and going anywhere. He could start a new life, like Beverly (which was seriously a piece of gossip that he needed to discuss. Immediately. With Mindy.). He could forget all the mistakes he made here and start over. Maybe he could get a place just outside of LA with a bit of land, adjacent to a desert. He could cut hair for the local Army base and…

He realized what he had to do – what men do. They own up. They take responsibility. And they accept the consequences, even if they include rejection. Even if they include heartbreak. Even if they include cheating and divorce and being the jerk who ends up alone. Men own up. And he would be the first Castellano man – he would break the cycle.

…

He swallowed hard as he got off the elevator on her floor. For some reason, all he could think about was her tear-stained cheek the last time he had been at her place. He had to stop and talk himself out of turning around several times. But he steeled himself for her rejection. He knew she would say no. He knew she would say he missed his chance. And she should say that. He didn't deserve a first chance with her, much less a do-over. But he had to say it. He had to be a man and tell her the truth.

She looked sheepish when she answered the door. She was in the nightgown she had worn to the office after her robbery. And her hair was messy. And she had some crumbs lingering around her lips. He smiled a little at the sight – she must have been zeroing out the fridge for the night.

She looked uncomfortable, so he tried to break the ice with, "I told you 'I'll be back.'" What is it with him and doing weird accents in her presence? It was like when she came near him, he lost all sense of order in his world. It was disorienting and nauseating and wonderful.

She sort of smiled at his joke, but her sadness was evident. And that made him sad in ways he couldn't express. He wanted to be clever and in control of himself, but all he could do was look at the floor.

"Can I come in for a sec?"

"Um. Well. Okay, I guess." She opened the door enough for him to slide in. There was a mess on the island in her kitchen. He remembered when she made a pie there while he foolishly searched for girls who wanted to sleep with him. He blushed at the thought. If only he could go back…

He walked to the island and saw an open box with photos scattered about. She tried to intercept him, but he saw the picture of them. And he saw his face pressed into her shoulder with his eyes closed. He remembered how he felt when the picture was taken. He remembered how she smelled like a wonderful mix of laundry and perfume. And he remembered how he wanted to bury himself within her and stay forever.

There was also a picture of Cliff. And Casey. And… "What is THIS?" he inquired.

He turned around, and she looked embarrassed – maybe more embarrassed that he had ever seen her. And he wanted to grab her and wrap her up in his arms and tell her that she never needed to be embarrassed ever again because she was perfect.

But he didn't.

"Um… it's nothing."

"It's clearly something that has to do with me..." he replied defensively. She looked away. "Okay, never mind. You're right. It's none of my business… anymore."

They stood there in silence. He thought about how much he once loved silence. It was comforting and familiar. And it was infinitely better than the drama his ex-wife had brought to his life. After she had hurt him, even the silence was ruined by the sounds of his insecurities ringing in his ears. Eventually, he had learned to force them away. And here he was again, formally inviting them for an encore performance as he tried to win back a woman whom he had never deserved, would never deserve and still managed to hurt.

He almost ran out the door at that thought. But he remembered that tear. The way it jumped out of her eye and slid down her face as he was breaking her heart. He reminded himself that only guys leave women crying. And he would be a man.

"So. What are you doing here?" She was wiping crumbs from the sides of her lips, and he wanted to hold her hand still and kiss away all the sugar he knew was there. He wanted her to feel comfortable in his presence. She was comfortable in everyone's presence, and it hurt him even more watching her try to hide from him.

"I didn't think you would already be in your pajamas."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting anyone… I can just run and change…" She headed towards her bedroom, and he was suddenly bold and desperate. He grabbed her arm.

"No. Don't change."

She turned to look back at him. They glared at each other, but neither said anything. They both just looked sad.

"What's in the box, Mindy?" He sounded angrier than he intended.

"No. You don't get to know." She sounded sadder than she intended.

He looked at the floor and loosened his grip. "Why am I included in pictures of Cliff and Casey and all the other assholes you've dated?" his voice trailed off. He knew the answer.

She jerked her arm from his hand. "Why the fuck are you here?"

He recognized the challenge in her voice, and he wanted to respond like he always did. He wanted to challenge back and be aggressive. And he wanted her to be aggressive with him. And he wanted them to tear each other down with insults and cleverness. And then he wanted to take off her bra – without a blindfold – and build her back up with his hands and his arms and his tongue.

He looked down, wishing he could be the mom in Mindy's story from the subway, or any character in any of her stories. He wished he could be anywhere but here, admitting his mistakes and begging for forgiveness that he didn't deserve and wouldn't receive.

"I'm sorry." He stared at the floor resolving never to look up again. And then he remembered his father. Even after all the years they had been apart, his father looked him in the eye when he apologized. And Danny decided he could be at least as good as his father.

He looked up at her directly into her eyes. They were full of tears. And he realized his eyes were full of tears too. He was losing her. He wasn't sure he had ever felt more devastated.

One tear fell out of his eye. And the others followed rapidly. And all the sadness of his life – all the times he had been left alone by so many people who should have loved him – poured out of his eyes at that moment. "I'm sorry for hurting you. For being one of the jerks in your life. I didn't mean to be. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing with you. I still don't."

She was quiet, and it was completely unnerving.

"I know I don't deserve you. I never deserved you. I know that I belong in that box. But I want to tell you that I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you. I'm trying to be better." He tried to level his voice, control the tempo, but it was mostly useless. "I'm going to be better." The last part was practically a whisper.

"Of course you deserve me, Danny. Don't be silly," she said quietly. Tears were spilling from her eyes at a rapid clip. And he could tell those were the only words she could manage without completely falling apart. And it was so appropriate that this complicated woman, who used celebrity anecdotes to explain everything that ever happened, would say just those few words to him.

He kissed her then. It was sloppy and sugary and snotty and maybe the best kiss of his life. He held her face like he always did, rubbing his thumbs along her damp cheeks and pulling her face deeper and deeper into him.

Eventually, he wrapped his arms around her and could feel her warm skin under the thin material of her nightgown. He squeezed her body in his arms like he could somehow claim possession of her. And he felt like a lucky man.

…

When he woke up, she was still asleep. She was naked with her bare back facing him. He smiled with both sides of his mouth. Dammit, when did he start smiling so much? He scooted closer to her and buried his face in her shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing her wonderful Mindy scent. He wished he could take a picture. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"We need to talk about Beverly."

I just want to thank everyone who commented on my other story. It was really lovely to get such thoughtful feedback. I will try to respond to each of you individually as well...