Or: The Hookup
Or: Why Life Isn’t and Shouldn’t Be Like a Romantic Comedy
Nate’s and my official courtship started over carrot cake, as has almost every major milestone of our relationship.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not one for mincing words or circumlocution and our relationship is, at least in part, a product of my desire for extremely clear communication. I try to say what I mean and mean what I say. There’s a tendency to assume that men are very clear communicators and women are not, but in our relationship, much like our wedding and hopefully, our marriage, we’re tossing out all the things that don’t make a great deal of sense. And not talking about the shit that is going on is one of those things.
So when Nate and I had been meeting for a swing dance class and coffee and carrot cake afterward (or more often, working our way through Au Coquelet‘s jabillions of italian soda syrup flavors) for awhile; after we had disentangled ourselves from our prior relationships; after we had been going over to each other’s homes and just as often crashing (platonically) in each other’s beds for months; and just before we went on a trip to Chicago together, Nate and I were sitting in the coffee shop, sharing a piece of carrot cake, and laughing about some of the hijinks we planned to get up to in Chicago.
To something I had said, Nate replied, “Well, it’s not as if we’re dating yet.”
If this were a romance novel (with which I have unfortunate and embarrassing love affairs) or a romantic comedy film, one of two things would have happened:
Option 1: We would have stared across the table at each other, forgetting that last little piece of carrot cake that prior to this moment we had been carefully taking little pieces of, until it was just a tiny speck of frosting, trying desperately not to be the one who ate the last bite. Our eyes would have met and we’d lean across and kiss each other, knowing, without words, that this was the moment that everything would change!
Option 2: I would have changed the subject and pretended that nothing happened. Later, over a pint of ice cream, I’d have carefully and cautiously dissected every word of the conversation and quoted High Fidelity at myself while I determined what Nate had meant when he said, “yet”. I probably would have called my Best Friend ™, who would have given me terrible dating advice while simultaneously proven that she was more of a whore than I could ever hope to be. (Unless she was the ugly best friend, in which case she would have given me slightly better advice, but would have been jealous of me. Later she’d try to undermine my relationship, but the power of love would have persevered and I’d have forgiven her perfidy because I’m a better person.)
Fortunately, this is not a romance novel nor a romantic comedy. Instead, I placed my hands down on either side of the plate, leaned forward, and said, “So, I can’t help but notice that we’re moving in this direction. Are you interested in pursuing this? Because I am.”
Given that you’re reading this on our wedding blog, you may take it as given that it all worked out from there.