Year One

"Happy eve of our anniversary," Abraham murmured as he drifted to sleep.

I love how confident Abraham has become over the past year. In the beginning he had a wall built of shyness and insecurity. He's done a complete 180. I watch him with a bit of out-of-body experience as he reaches for my hand or kisses me in public, a rule he has since withdrawn. He could not be more comfortable with me and our relationship. I feel the same way, but I had an easier time with it.

"Can you believe that the roommate and her boyfriend still haven't said 'I love you'? They've been together nine months!" Abraham once said smugly.

"Oh yeah, because you handled that real well," I smirked. "I guess they're not moving in together if they haven't said it yet."

The next night we were snuggled up on the couch watching a concert of a performer we both love. Abraham disrupted the snuggling and the blankets by getting up.

"Unh!" I cried.

"Sorry! Time to switch the laundry!"

He disappeared and I kept watching the concert. Abraham returned and knelt on the floor with a single red rose.

"It's midnight. Happy anniversary."

A year has passed since I spent that horrible first night throwing up in his bathroom. When Abraham heard how all of my friends got together (which includes a story of one guy peeing in the corner of a girl's room), he felt much better about the bathroom yakking. I, naturally, backdated our relationship to that night as a way to smooth over my indiscretions.

"Awww!" This is the confidence of him that I love. "When did you have time to get this?"

"When you were out at Book Club." He handed me a card. The A's in Sarah were replaced with sappy hearts. The card itself was light and funny, which is what I expect from him, but underneath he had written that this had been the best year of his life. I was touched. I didn't know he felt that way.

I was also caught with my pants down. It was officially our anniversary and I didn't have anything for him. I was going to handle that in the morning.

Morning came and Abraham got up with the alarm. I rolled over and snuggled in his space in the pillow. I had taken a much-needed week off work. Abraham left the room and returned with an entire bouquet of flowers.

"Awww, why are you so nice?" I cried. Once again, my pants were down as it had only been eight hours since the last giving of flowers. We made plans to meet for lunch.

I found a Hallmark Gold Crown store. Cards are difficult for relationships. We're not married, so most anniversary cards don't apply. I did find a small section labeled Love, which seemed to fit better. I picked up a card that read "Beer drinkers make better lovers" and knew I was done.

In my apartment I located a map of North America I had received randomly in the mail and had kept. I drew a heart on every city we had visited together, which was quite a few. I folded the map and put it in the card. I didn't know what he was doing for a gift, so I gambled and wrote in the card that I would get him Green Day's Uno, Dos and Tre when they become available: his favorite band.

Then I drove to my mother's house and picked up a signed, framed poster of our favorite local singer whose concert we were watching the previous night and hung it in his room on loan.

He loved the card, map and upcoming CDs. He chided me for storing signed band posters at my mother's house.

"I ordered something for you, but it isn't here yet," he disclosed.

"You've already done so much," I said.

We went out to dinner, hibachi at my request. Unfortunately we were seated next to America's Worst Family: a man with his four children and his new, younger girlfriend. Abraham and I completed the table of eight. The children were either texting on their phones or calling their mommy. When they weren't doing that, they were sneering at the girlfriend. The father was oblivious, playing on his own phone.

The hibachi chef was frustrated, trying to put a show on for eight with only Abraham and I watching. I was horrified at the kid's treatment of the girlfriend and her response to them as well. She'd get caught up in their taunting instead of taking the high road. By the end of the meal, she put her head in her hands, close to tears.

I grabbed her arm. "Are you okay? Those kids were really rude to you."

She looked at me wide-eyed and then to the father. "DID YOU HEAR THAT?! SHE SAID YOUR KIDS WERE MEAN TO ME."

I leaned to Abraham, "We have to leave. Now."

He got up from the table. The father made eye contact with me and I just shrugged like an asshole. She was supposed to do that in the car, not when I was sitting there. Unfortunately the father was oblivious to the whole scene as he was on his phone and didn't see anything that was happening. When she initially complained to him and asked him for help, he acted like she was crazy, which is why I said something in the first place.

"Would you like some of my birthday cake?" he simply offered, still ignoring the situation.

"No, we're leaving." Abraham said. "Happy birthday."

Abraham wanted to go back to our bar for after-dinner drinks, the spot where we first spoke. The place we eat dinner at once a week.

I shuffled through my new purse. I didn't have my ID. It was in the bag I just changed. I pleaded with the doorman. I'm 31; I don't look 21. He said if someone inside could vouch for me, then I could get in. Abraham went inside a grabbed a manager who said it was okay. But inside the bartender refused to serve me and then security came and got me and escorted me out of the bar.

I got escorted out of a bar for not having my ID. At 31 years of age. At my regular bar. On my one-year anniversary. Ugh.

I hated feeling the shame like I did something wrong. Instead we went into the bar next door, owned by the same people as the bar that removed me. The security guy kept watching me drink through the window. Fuck him. We had one drink and left.

Abraham didn't drive the normal way home from the bar. He took the back way.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Cops," he explained.

He drove to the spot where we first kissed behind the bar and stopped the car. "You believed me, didn't you?" he smiled.

He opened my car door and pulled me to the spot: next to the dumpster behind the bar. He kissed me. We made out. I knocked teeth with him again.

"It really was the best year of your life?" I asked.

"Yes. Do you think we can make next year any better?"

"It'll be hard, but we can try."