last night me and special k went out to celebrate our 2-year wedding anniversary. Though it’s not long in the scheme of a whole lifetime, I am insanely proud.
(My mother, whose husband takes her out every sunday and languishes when she has to go away for work, is always prepared for the possibility that he’ll find a much younger, more energetic woman to leave her for. She’s very philosophical about it.
My sister recently told her she’s just going to have to come to terms with the fact that Dad’s never going to leave her. I may have inherited some of her matter-of-fact weirdness about the future – in light of which, every day my marriage is still real and lasting is a success.)
I asked special k, “So, how do you feel, two years down the line?”
He pulled a bunch of faces at me, and I thought: Here we go, he’s gone into awkward boy mode, in the face of an intimate, searching question. “Are you going to answer?”
“It’s a big question!” he said. Then he looked at me, loving and vulnerable and said, “Complete,” with a lack of self-consciousness that only love, I think, can utter and hear.
I said, “I think it’s still the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”
Then we drank a bunch of cocktails that tasted like Old Spice.