I knew I wanted to marry him. I told Smash that once, a long time ago, accidentally, during one of our “wedding nights.” We would drive to the drugstore and purchase at least four absurdly expensive wedding magazines and some frozen yogurt, and then spend the rest of the night passing the tomes full of lacy dresses back and forth between us.
“No WAY!” “Would you EVER?” “He is wearing a grey suit or he is not marrying me, I’ll tell you that much.”
There were no men in our lives, only boys. Boys from college. Boys from work. No one involved was anywhere near ready to commit to adulthood, to promise anything on that scale.
But she showed me some dress, some concoction of frothy, brilliantly white chiffon. “Oh, as IF!” I squealed. “If I wear that, I’ll look so pale, M won’t even recognize me.”
I didn’t even realize what I had put out into the world, but she slowly lowered her magazine and stared at me, smiling. “You just said it,” she laughed. “You said you’re going to marry him someday!”
She was right.
It took us a long time to get here. There were some patches that rocked my serenity, that made me question whether I was ready, whether the path we shared then would translate into a road we could walk on all the way into the future.
I didn’t need to worry.
Our families taught us what we needed: how to build a home for each other out of love, no matter where we are.
The people we surround ourselves with give us strength and a joy I can’t even begin to quantify.
These loved ones have helped us carve that path that I once wondered about into a road I would follow anywhere.
Baby, I would follow you anywhere.
Sometimes the enormity of what we’ve signed ourselves up for doesn’t hit us until much later.
And when it does, we’re not sure we can ever be grateful enough.