He Loves Me

We began with a bang. How cliché is that. What isn't cliché, however, is that the bang was me laying a Vespa down in the middle of the road.

That particular bang was a year ago, today.

At 12:01 a.m. Scott went outside to get something out of his bike while I climbed into bed and opened a book. He brushed back the curtain that separates the bedroom from the rest of the loft and carried a bouquet of roses and a card. "Happy anniversary, baby," he said.

The roses are beautiful; I've never seen anything like them. At first glance it looks like the petals are aging, but actually they're red with darker red tiger stripes. I tried looking the breed up this morning to see what kind they are, but I haven't found them yet. The card personified Scott's personality: it was sweet with a hint of romance, but it opted for the joke instead of exaggerated sentiment. It was like it was written for him.

"I decided to give you this tonight instead of tomorrow because I won't be here," he explained. "I asked the girls at work what I should do, and they said to give you this tonight, otherwise they said you're just going to sit at home alone tomorrow and stew. I'm sorry I can't be here."

The scheduling between us has been difficult. By the time he gets home from closing the restaurant, we only have about an hour before I have to go to bed in order to be up for the morning. He works weekends too so there isn't going to be an anniversary date. Not even a dinner. He even has to stay late tonight, so I'll probably be asleep before he gets home.

I understand this and I'm not upset over it. I was the one who wanted a better job for him; he took it for me. For us. And these are the consequences.

I spent the morning trying to think about my other one-year anniversary with The Alcoholic-- Mark and I split up three weeks before our one-year anniversary, so The Alcoholic would have been the only one. I wondered what I did all those years ago. How we celebrated. But I couldn't remember a single detail about it, not even what season of the year it fell on. It took me hours to realize that we didn't have one either. We took a break two weeks before our anniversary and got back together two weeks afterwards. This is the first time in my life I have ever made it an entire, consecutive year with someone. This is my first anniversary.

It makes me wish we could do more-- do things properly. But the fact I'm going to be spending tonight watching The Other Boleyn Girl while eating Chinese takeout doesn't even matter, because I think about all I have gained within the past year: I fell in love, I gained a partner, I gained a roommate, a car washer, a scratcher of backs, a lover. Someone who laughs when I painstakingly clean out the refrigerator, but forgot to turn it back on so everything in the freezer melts over my efforts. Someone who holds my hand during the season finale of Grey's Anatomy. And I am just so unbelievably happy.