*** And so, our story continues…from my husband’s perspective.
That Friday after work, we met at the restaurant.
She had come directly after work and seemed hesitant. Her hair was cut into a bob and kept swinging over one eye. A rowdy after-work crowd was growing around us including a table immediately to our left.
“Are you guys on a date?”
The confident man standing over our table interrogating us also had a bob that was swinging over one eye. When he had walked into the restaurant, we had termed him “Justin Bieber.” Before his brazen question, I had seen him in the men’s bathroom hogging the mirror and swooping his bob just-right with a pocket comb.
“Yeah, what’s up here?” Said a diminutive gentleman hugging to his side who we had ceremoniously dubbed “crawfish”.
Crawfish seemed to know that Justin Bieber was the alpha male of the two and was full-on wingman to the seductive powers of his hair. Or so, I guessed from my place at the table.
Previous to them walking over, a young lady who was part of their table had run out of the restaurant crying.
Now that they had warmed up, they made themselves comfortable hovering over us.
“We are both lawyers. What do you guys do?”
“We are teachers on a professional outing.”
“Oh, so this is not a date?”
“Me too. Thought it was date,” Crawfish chimed in.
“It is not, we are just talking.”
The trial team of Justin Bieber and Crawfish had set on us and were determined to unravel our first date before we even got started.
It is possible that another man might have been threatened by this dastardly team of young lawyers, but I only hoped they would leave to spare themselves any more embarrassment because it was obvious they were making a show of trying to pry my date, my future wife, away from me and to whisk her away into the night led by the glint of Justin Bieber’s trusty pocket comb.
Admittedly, at the time, I did not know my future wife all that well. However, I understood intuitively that Bieber and Crawfish had no chance. Not to mention, they had already been transmogrified into inside jokes. They were jesters beside our table and I was hoping we could get back to our conversation.
The more we talked, the more interested I became in the woman across from me. She was different. She was soft and yet blunt, funny but not cynical or self-deprecating and could handle being deep and still light.
It seemed the only way to keep talking was to leave, so I got up to pay the check and while waiting for the tab, my future wife absconded out the door.
I paid the check, pushed my way through the crowd and caught up with her outside.
And catch up with her I did. It seemed that for the next six months I was chasing after her, following her out of doorways and following her across bridges and paths that all led to a new and unknown place. She would show me something of herself and then work to lose me. But, love ran us both down. Love is pushy like that.
And, after six months, including about one month trapped inside together during a snow storm, we were married.