What do you do when you’re in love with your best friend?
I spent many nights agonizing about what would happen to our friendship if my feelings weren’t reciprocated. When I finally mustered up the courage, I was an ocean away in Cairo. I wrote a jetlagged and melodramatic e-mail confession in the wee of hours of the night, then cried myself to sleep, trying not to think about the response waiting in my inbox in the morning. Much to my relief, Cory felt the same way. The next couple months were a whirlwind and in the midst of that Cory received a job offer in San Francisco. I still had another year of college to finish up, but that was it. We were going to be together and I was moving to San Francisco.
It is weird to think that I married some cute guy who commented on my blog on this day 12 years ago. He introduced himself and told me that I seemed like “a special person, a unique person”. The blog post he responded to was something I had written about the first Lord of the Rings movie and a quiz result for “Which Final Fantasy X character are you?” (I got Lulu, by the way). Special person, indeed. We soon swapped AIM names, which was followed by sharing book recommendations and funny internet videos. After a couple years, we were best friends. He became my closest confidant and the keeper of my secrets. I loved him then, but it was never discussed. What was the point? A relationship between us just didn’t seem geographically possible, so I tried to forge my own path that didn’t involve us being together romantically. It another four years until that e-mail confession.
Our life together is not a difficult one. We align on most things — sense of humor, diet, how money should be spent, politics, lack of religion, human rights, type of city in which we want to live, type of dwelling we want to share, places we want to travel, and so forth. While we agree how the cat should be fed, I have a much more difficult time resisting Izzy’s pathetic begging. We have our daily routines down. We prefer each other’s companies above anyone else’s. We communicate with each other in a secret language containing a decade’s worth of inside jokes. We annoy each other, but seldom get angry. We share a 380 square foot studio apartment in relative harmony. He eats almost everything I cook. If he has an extra piece of pizza, he usually lets me have it, or at least shares it. Neither of us have overbearing parents. I love his parents and he loves mine. We are partners in all things. We are still best friends. It is a good life and I am stupidly lucky.
Our true selves
April 2nd is no longer just the day we met, but also the day we married. This day last year, we skipped work to eat french fries, pizza, milkshakes, and make it legal at San Francisco City Hall. Our wedding was on our own terms, with two close friends in attendance to serve as our witnesses, share a meal with us, and take 800+ photos. Continuing the tradition of enjoying the finer things in life (pizza, french fries, ice cream, etc.), we spent today on a gluttonous eating fest.
We started off at Cafe Zola. I had every intention of ordering a waffle, but I couldn’t resist “deep fried sandwich” and got a Monte Cristo instead. Cory ordered a frittata and let me have most of the avocado. Aww.
As we were walking home, we saw a large procession of unmarked cars and I jokingly said that it was Barack Obama on his way to Zingerman’s Deli, an Ann Arbor institution. After mentioning Zingerman’s, I suggested we pick up a hot drink there since we’re still rolling in gift card dough from Christmas. Turns out, it was Obama and he stopped there for lunch. Zingerman’s was closed off, so we picked up a tea latte from a nearby cafe and waited to catch a glimpse of the president. I knew it was a long shot, but I was hoping I’d get the chance to ask Obama to bless my marriage because that is totally something presidents do, right? They shake hands and kiss babies, so why not bless marriages? Didn’t happen though, and we didn’t even get a good glimpse of him. Oh well! We still get to say we saw Obama on our first wedding anniversary.