“So how did you two meet?”
“Would you rather tell it, honey?” Peter asks me, the dutiful husband, though I know how much he loves telling it.
“I love how you tell it, babe,” I assure him.
“So, Gillian and I went to the same high school and never met! Can you believe that?”
I followed you everyday. I was invisible. I watched you sleep from my hiding place in the huge oak tree next to your window. I listened to your brother practice the trumpet every night on the back porch. I loved you from the first day you bumped into me in the hallway between second and third periods in ninth grade and asked me, “Are you okay?” Most guys would have just laughed. Those were the only words you would say to me for the next 10 years.
“Then we ran into each other at a friend’s wedding…”
A wedding I sneaked into because I knew you would be there. I’d spent the years since high school transforming myself into a woman worthy of you.
“…we started talking and realized we had actually been classmates.” I join in the laughter. “We’ve been together ever since.”
“What a wonderful story!”
A story I made come true.