“You’re really passionate,” she said.

This is a sentence often mistaken for praise. He walked home alone, humming “Peaches en Regalia,” which did not improve matters. Later he blamed taste, then timing, then honesty itself. But years afterward he understood something kinder. His taste had not ruined the date. It had merely accelerated the truth. She wanted a companion. He wanted someone who might appreciate a twenty-minute explanation of marimba overdubs.