Tonight is the eve of our 7th wedding anniversary. I could go through the normal dialogue about how I can’t believe it and how time goes by so quickly, but I’m in more of a thoughtful place right now. 7 years ago I was an impetuous, lovestruck 20 year old college kid who proposed marriage to the boy she wouldn’t even call her boyfriend. We were nestled on the floor in a pile of blankets in the wee hours of the morning, the light from the electric fireplace throwing shadows over the walls. I quite literally pinned his shoulders to the floor and popped the question. The surprise registered all over his beautiful face and for a split second I though he was going to say no. But he said yes, thank God. We fell asleep on the floor that night giddy with anticipation and high on the idea of a secret wedding. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew he would be beside me the whole way, and that was enough. Sometimes I miss that bold, crazy girl. Marco and I took a walk around the neighborhood tonight and we reminisced about the young kids we used to be.
One night a few of us showed up to the restaurant after closing and somebody had a motorcycle that belonged to a friend of a friend of a friend. Marco and I weren’t yet dating, though he was on my radar. He jumped on that motorcycle and smiled in my direction. Before I knew it, I was hiking up my little skirt and jumping on the back of that death machine. Me! The walking public service announcement for the danger of motorcycles!
Marco and a friend showed up at the night club my girlfriend and I were at one Saturday night and coerced me into dancing with him ;) He was smooth, but I wasn’t going to be won over that easily. When the club closed, he pretended to be too drunk to drive so that my friend and I would drive him home. It worked, sneaky little Casanova, and I only slept 2 hours that night because I had to pick him up and drive him back to get his car the next morning.
For weeks he woo’ed me into going on a date with him. Most mornings we opened the restaurant together and every morning, without fail, there were strawberries and whip cream waiting for me where I would stash my purse. He would crane his neck out of the office and grin at me as I ate them and rolled eyes. I loved it. His efforts didn’t stop with just me though. He turned the charm on my aunt when she would come in to pick me up too! But it paid off and I agreed to go on a date with him. I found out later he had been specifically scheduling our days off together, tisk tisk ;)
Seven years later, sometimes I wonder what happened to that girl. When I took on the role of wife and stepmom, I immersed myself completely in it and while I love my life and my family, there are times like tonight when I feel a little pang for that feisty girl I once was. Sometimes I worry that Marco misses her too. We talked about that tonight, Marco and I. He says he still sees that girl in me. She is my essence, he says. That makes me smile and I squeeze his hand a bit tighter. Marco and I didn’t grow up together, but in a way I grew up with him. I matured with him. I became, (eek!) responsible with him. And he loves me anyway. There were a lot of people who didn’t see our relationship lasting very long, and the truth is I would have been a critic too, had I been on the outside looking in. But Marco and I? We have too much passion to fizzle out. We fight passionately, we love passionately, we live passionately. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend or lover. He puts up with my craziness but calls me on my shit too. He is my best friend and my husband. How did I get so damn lucky?