Snapshots from today:
8:15 am: The Match insisted on making me breakfast without any clothes on. I returned the favor and made some naked coffee.
8:45 am: We discussed the necessity of a solidly choreographed first dance “if we ever get married,” then we got real about what we actually wanted (a visit to the courthouse followed by a party with close friends and family, plus I was serious about the dance). I looked at him over my coffee mug and raised my eyebrows: “Are we making wedding plans over coffee? Happy one month anniversary, honey.” He looked me in the eyes and told me that I was going to be his wife. I flashed back to the first week we met, when we agreed that marriage was one of those things we could take or leave.
9:15 am: I drove to work in a love haze, a smile plastered on my face. In an attempt to ground myself, I read through a few not-so-old blog posts (namely this one) in which I cast serious doubt on the likelihood of the scenario that just played out EVER happening. I wondered to myself…am I engaged?
11:30 am: I relay the story of my morning to the police officer assigned to security in the building where I work on Sundays. We’ve become friendly over the past six months of weekly interactions, and we’ve lately been discussing my love life. He acts utterly unsurprised and points out that he had predicted this two weeks earlier, and I had laughed at him then.
2:20 pm: I texted The Match on my way to run errands and get some lunch: I can’t stop thinking about you. His reply: I know. I can’t either. I have a few things for your house. My heart beats a little faster at this because I had mentioned earlier that I would know we’d hit a major milestone when he brought over his expensive Simple Human trashcan (currently in his storage unit) because I knew wherever it went, he would follow. I was teasing him, but I couldn’t help thinking that the trashcan was among the “few things” he had for me.
6:41 pm: My kids are happily swimming at the pool. I’ve packed them a picnic dinner, but no one will get out of the water long enough to eat. From a poolside plastic adirondack chair , I distractedly attempt to write this post.
I’m still reflecting on my morning. It wasn’t completely out of left field for us to discuss marriage. In fact, on week two, he’d blurted out, “I know I said I didn’t really care about getting married ever again. But I’d totally marry you.” He’d expressed similar sentiments on several other occasions. My response before this weekend had been outwardly noncommittal, but the more I got to know him, the more I loved him and the safer I felt. He’s emotionally intelligent, self aware, kind, thoughtful, intuitive, disciplined, affectionate, honest, vulnerable, funny, enthusiastic, communicative, adventurous, sexy, loyal, and refreshingly open about how he’s feeling. And for reasons that neither of us can fathom, he’s not scared of my whole four-kids situation.
I already know he’s exactly what I’m looking for. And through some seriously magical voodoo, I’m exactly what he’s looking for, too. So I decided to reciprocate the marriage talk by bringing up the first dance choreography. He told me he had got the feeling I wasn’t interested in getting married again. I told him: I didn’t think I was either. And then you came along….I love you. And we are a great team. I want to be with you for a long ass time. Sometimes you just know.