The Top Ten Moments That Changed My Life

Ten.

September 14, 2019. The first day we met you were wearing the crushed army green velvet dress, with a matching necklace and earring set, faux sapphires, a gift from your grandma. You wear that for every special occasion. Henry was on his phone in between picking at his cuticles. He had on a wrinkled collared shirt and oil-stained jeans. Your voice, soft but crisp, asking what exactly he did at the glass museum. My brother’s voice was waning in and out as I couldn’t help but gawk, memorizing your every feature, each breath you took. I’ve never told you this, but I know you paid for that date, I heard the blue haired server say that his card had declined. He shrugged it off when you opened your wallet and handed the waitress more than enough for the two of you. “My ride is here,” Henry said, standing up, “Text me.” And with that he was gone. Approximately two seconds later I filled his seat. My body moving before my brain. When your Kelley green eyes finally met mine, I swear I saw them brighten. We spent the next 20 minutes making fun Henry before you told me your name. Liz.

Nine.

We were only halfway through our first date, waiting in line to rent the pedal boat, when a young fan came up to us and when I tried to brush her off you were so gracious. Her hands were visibly trembling, and you offered to take a picture of the two of us for her. After you took a couple you said we should move because the lighting was washing us out.  I had been on dozens of dates with fans recognizing me and none of them had ever been so understanding. “Here sweetie,” you said handing her a piece of gum along with a notepad and pen, “ask him to sign this for you. Everyone wants a selfie, but a signature will set you apart.” By the time we got on the water the sun was practically down. In the silence right after sundown, you scooped water up from the lake and splashed it at me. The cold water hit trembling skin. My shriek mimicked the rippling water. I forced my wet hair away from my forehead. Peering around I locked eyes with our fellow pedal boat riders. And I hope to God that you don’t ever let me forget it. By the end of that night, your pale purple top was no longer keeping you warm, but you refused to admit you were cold. That, I promise I’ll never let you forget.

Eight.

Our first fight. You had been up for nearly three days; a patient had killed themselves and you were grieving. I wrapped you in the gray and white plaid blanket my mom had given me for Christmas after my papa had died. That blanket has seen the most tears, magically it has retained its original softness. After some coercion you agreed to spend the night. I wanted you to be comfortable, so I snagged my only pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and put them in the dryer. You contemplated going back to your place. To this day I’m still not sure what hurt worse: watching you cry and knowing there was nothing I could do about it, nothing to make the pain go away – nothing, or what I said. Innocently handing you the warm, staticky clothes fresh from the dryer, “Here, you can change in my room.” You nodded as you held the hoodie, checking the tag, following it up by inspecting the pants. “I can’t wear these,” you said handing me the pants back. “They’ll fit you like a glove.” I beamed, excited that I had pants to offer you and not just my old boxers that left the rotation but were still usable. Your voice shifted as your eyes narrowed. “What was the point of handing these to me if you knew they wouldn’t fit? If you have a problem with my body, then be honest with me. And if you can’t do me that courtesy then do yourself a favor and break up with me.” I froze.  Clearly, this was not the first time this thought had crossed your mind. “What?” was all I could mumble. I watched your hair flip across your shoulders as the blanket rapidly found its home on the back of the couch. “If you. Have a problem. With MY body. Tell. Me. Now.” Scorched in my brain.  After I put my best effort into convincing you that I in fact, love, your body, we talked about in another life you had been abused for being fat. Told you were less than. I told you this that night, and I’ll say it for the rest of time: You are far more then less than.

Seven.

Our first date ended abruptly when my eldest brother called, panicked because my niece’s appendix had ruptured, and she was having emergency surgery. “It’s okay,” you said as you squeezed my hand. “Call Sarah, I’m on my way,” I said driving off. I called you an hour into the trip, wanting to explain that it was a real crisis, and I wasn’t trying to get away. “You picked me up at 6 and you got the call at 10, if you wanted out you would’ve left after dinner, nor would you have bought flowers. Are you almost there?” Your voice silky smooth, calming. We talked until I pulled my Honda into the hospital parking lot. I spent the next three days conferencing in at work and visiting my niece and brother, calling you every available chance. We ran into each other when I got back, completely on accident I swear to God, and again, you showed me grace. You even agreed to go on a second date. Your lips were slightly chapped, particularly where you bite them when you’re reading, the scent of mint and eucalyptus radiated from your breath. I asked if I could walk with you to your car when you said that you had walked from your place… you must’ve been able to tell I was disappointed because you said we could go on a walk. After we lapped the park, we found a spot away from the crowds, from the kids kicking around a hacky sack, and sat down in the grass. It was lush, a little overgrown, soft even. Our bodies gradually grew closer, the heat from the sun no longer a factor. You reached for my hand with your pinky, your nails were painted a purple-blue color. 20 minutes passed, just the two of us sitting there, nobody found us. There were so many moments that I wanted to lean in, to press my lips against yours, the wind blew, and your scent filled my nostrils, the sun beamed in your emerald eyes. “What are you thinking?” you said after a long silence. And I had a moment where I heard my voice saying, “I’d like to kiss you.” You lean into my ear, a half an inch away from my neck and whispered, “I’d like to kiss you too.” With my free hand, I drew it close to your face, cupping your round cheek, our foreheads together for a long moment, in sync our lips became one.

Six.

Poor Jasper, our cuddly, snuggly, feisty kitty. Jasper’s fuzzy bean toes complemented only by his orange and brown stripes made him a perfect fit for my apartment. I remember watching you take picture, after picture, after picture of him. And I know you still look at them, reminiscing about our few days with him. Unfortunately, our slight feline allergies made keeping a cat a tricky time. I had to include Jasper because he was our reminder about being honest in uncomfortable situations. Hey, at least Chris took him in and he’s thriving with his new sisters.

Five.

Two weeks from our first official date I nervously asked if you wanted to be my girlfriend. Approximately three weeks from that we set up a Zoom call to meet our friends. It wasn’t what we imagined. We wanted to get everyone together in person, but it just wasn’t possible to get people in at the same time from all over the country. Courtney and her husband in Arizona, your family on the west coast, my childhood friends in Colorado and the rest of my family in northern California. Our hand was forced into a video chat. Courtney was mad that Chris was in the apartment with us, acting as the entertainment of the evening any time the conversation lulled. If she wasn’t married, I would say that they’re a perfect fit.

Four.

January 2020, we left southern California for a long weekend, the first of our annual trips to Seattle. “I’ve always wanted to go. A kid I knew from high school got an internship with Microsoft and a former friend went out probably once a year to go see him.” You squealed with excitement, “Want me to reach out to see if he’s got any good tips? He’s quite the adventurous soul.” I nodded along, feeding of your energy. You were all but silent in the terminal, and your quiet continued while we were boarding. “Breathe,” you mumbled. I offered you the window seat, your head shaking vigorously. I shoved our carry-on bags in the overhead compartment before straddling your lap, noticing your hands clenched. “Are you okay?” I asked. You stumbled over some words until you blurted out “I don’t like flying. It’s not that I don’t like to fly, but I, um, I – uh, um, I don’t like the take off part. Yes, it’s irrational, but I can’t help it,” your hands gestured wildly before forcing out your air through your nostrils. I buckled my seatbelt then did the only thing I thought I could do I enclosed your hands in mine. I had to protect you. It was instinct. Pretty sure I never told you but when you closed your eyes mine got teary. Simply for the reason that I was overwhelmed by what I was feeling for you. It certainly was not the first time I felt this, but it was the first time I acknowledged it to myself. Love.

Three.

Two months after we got back from our first trip, March 13, 2020, our offices closed for two weeks, maybe more. The world shut down. Within 48 hours we decided that it might be in our best interest to become a quarantine pod, and after Chris had been alone for too long, we added him into the pod. We spent weeknights at your place, with your younger cousin whose apartment building had caught fire, and weekends at my place. It was our way to keep our minds occupied and engaged. Sitting on the balcony, listening to the clattering of pots and pans at eight o’clock every night, hearing neighbors laughing, singing, on their video chats. My lease agreement was up, the landlord emailed another contract which arrived during an intense Animal Crossing session. You put the controller on the wooden end table next to the tissue box. “Soooooo,” you drew the O-sound out for several seconds, “what are you gonna do about that?” All I could do was cock my head. “To quote Frozen… ‘Can I say something crazy?’” I snorted out a laugh before saying, “’I love crazy!’” with a wink. You shuffled around to face me head on. “What if you didn’t live there anymore? Like what if your stuff wasn’t kept there anymore and I kept your stuff here,” you said gesturing toward the TV area. I wrinkled my face, just trying to process what had been said. “Here?” You nodded vigorously, batting your eyelashes. “Together?” My question was met with more nodding. “OH! I just had a thought. What if you renew your lease and we can use that apartment as an office slash mini getaway slash housing for visitors?” You were so excited. “I… I think that’s not a terrible plan…” I strayed, realizing how it sounded. Quickly you averted your eye contact, drawing your hands back into your own lap. “No, no no no no no, that’s not what I meant,” I held your elbows as I attempted to get my words together, “Yes, I would like that. I would like to live here with you.” “You don’t have to if you think it’s too much too soon,” your attention at my knuckles, they were dry. “Look at me,” I waited for a second before moving your chin up, “Please.” Our eyes staring directly at each other. “I want this. It’s time,” I said. Four weeks later we were moving my clothes and personal items out, leaving behind my furniture and non-perishables.

Two.

We stayed at the Ace Hotel in downtown Bellevue, about half an hour out from the city, 40 minutes from a beach, 20 minutes from the Snoqualmie Falls trails. You broke out some of your old east coast clothes for the hike to the falls. Hand in hand we walked the wooden path, shivering in the 37-degree weather with the promise of snow. “Why did we think this was a good plan?” you chattered, reaching across for my other hand as we stopped, “Whoa.” Your gaze drifting up the river, beating between the rocks, the white foam lightening your eyes. That was the moment. I knew it. You knew it. Yet the moment was fleeting and before either of us said anything a family showed up. On our ride back to town we asked our Lyft driver if they knew of any hidden gems. They recommended the botanical gardens 15 10 minutes away from the hotel, “I can take you there if you like.” “Thoughts?” you asked. “Let’s do it,” I confirmed. It was windy and snowing. “I should’ve brought my gloves!” you said in your sing-song way. “Here, I can help with that,” I took your hand, lacing our fingers together. We strolled along the dirt path until we happened upon a bridge with a rock fountain. “Let’s take a selfie,” I tried to pull my phone out with my left hand. You wiggled around as the wind rustled your hair and the leaves around us. “Timers on,” I said pushing my cheek against yours. We smiled. True, honest smiles. Showing all our smile bones. The timer counted down and before I knew it the words flew out of my mouth as the camera went off: “I love you.” I heard the shudder of the camera; in the picture your face is blurry and clearly switching directions. You remember the one? “What now?” you blurted. I shoved my phone back in the pocket of my jacket. “I love you,” my hands trembling for a different reason than the cold, “I love you, Liz.” You threw your arms around me, your chin nesting between my head and neck, “I love you too.”

One.

Now, you are probably thinking “what does he think is the best moment in our relationship?” Here is the kicker. I do not know. I had an idea, but I don’t want to limit myself. Assuming you’ve read this far, I think you’re smart enough to figure it out what’s coming next. I love you Liz, in a way that I never knew was possible. Turn around.