Nic & Me

Just one year before I met Nic, I sat outside at a friend’s wedding. I will never forget the words he had written into his vows. “When I met her, I felt like I had hit the lottery.”

My eyebrows flew up. I mean, I know, I know, we’re at a wedding and all — but do you really want to say something that big? We know you guys are marrying each other — and in general, that’s a sign of serious esteem, but isn’t that a little bit extreme!?

THAT. Is motherfucking vulnerability.

Which is, as we know, the key to love.

*

Tomorrow will be three years from my first date with Nic. This day, three years ago, I was texting him in a park. We’d been texting for a whopping twenty-four hours at that point, and I wasn’t messing around. I had already asked if he’d want to get together and have a beer. He’d kept the chit-chat up without making a date. So, under a tree, while Bela ran around with a ball in her mouth, I wrote: “Hey. Do you want to get together or not?? I’m really enjoying texting you — but I’m not looking for a best friend here, okay??

*

Nic is my best friend. The best friend I have ever had. It’s so weird, and it’s so trite and it’s so true. I told him we’d have to have separate apartments (*across the hallway from each other), but here we are, in a house, together. We even share the same bedroom. We share food. A dog. A baby! We share everything and though I hadn’t wanted to share anything, I am happy. Grossly happier than I have ever been.

Over the course of the past three years, I have written about him here, and I have written about him there — I have written about him everywhere. I share quotes of amazing/stupid/funny bullshit he says, and I sometimes share pics, and I have even posted a couple “I’m so happy with him” statuses. Each time, shortly after I share, I feel a little sick. Kindof hungover. Bad adrenaline. Nobody wants to know you’re so fucking happy, Kelly. Nobody gives a fuck. It’s annoying. 

*

If it’s so annoying, then why do I remember what my friend said about his soon-to-be-wife? Because, that day, he cracked open a door in me. I felt a little scared for him, but ultimately, what I felt was happy.

Someone in this world loves someone else in this world enough to say shit like that.

I realized then that I felt happy that he felt that happy. And that he felt safe enough to say it out loud. No shame.

*

Love, for so long, had been so shameful to me. To admit that you love is to admit that a part of your happiness in hinged upon someone else.

*

This morning, I came across one of my prized neighbors, Ginger. She’s retired. She walks her tiny dog around the block, and we talk. She assesses Oliver’s growth while I caress her canine’s ears. We always ask, with open hearts, how the other is.

She was telling me of her best friend’s visit, and I listened. But as she began to end her story, I could feel myself erupting. “IT’S NIC AND MY ANNIVERSARY!!!” I practically screamed!

My voice rang through the trees. There were tears threatening my face. I looked her in the eyes, but then quickly, dropped my head. I stepped back ever so slightly, giving her a little more distance. I was ashamed. I shouldn’t have gotten so excited. I shouldn’t have gotten so loud.

Shame and joy. Shame vs. joy. The shame IN joy.

I closed my eyes for just a split second, digesting my vulnerability. She can know I love him. There’s nothing wrong with letting her see how much I love him. There just can’t be.

*

It’s our anniversary. I got so little of what I wanted from him, and so much of what I need.

 

P.S. If you want to see the post of the first time I wrote about him! – it’s here

 

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