The Story






Husband met Wife at the SAE/KKG Halloween social in 1999. I was wearing my prom dress from the year before- renamed as a costume, “Jenny- the druggy years.” It was a short silver dress with hologram checks. Silver hose, lots o’ body glitter, and iridescent shoes completed the outfit. 
It was bright. 
It was sassy. 
It was so very tacky. 
When asked what I was (as the other sorority sisters opted for “Hooters” and the Playboy bunnies), it ranged from “Jenny” to “a ray of light”, to “my future”... among other things. 
Sweet Husband was a pledge. He was dressed as Richard Simons. By his choice...
Husband’s roommate was also a pledge. He was a roller derby queen, complete with the roller skates. Again, his choice...
Wife was dancing with Roommate at One Love (which, when my in-laws would receive Husband’s credit card bill, my FIL would call him to say that his mother is crying- thinking Husband used the card at a brothel. What an advanced society we live in- a brothel that takes Discover.), complete with his skates. Super T was playing. It was ten kinds of awesome. 
Roller Skating Derby Queen was not a bad dancer - considering he had skates. So, I should not have been shocked when he spun me, his skates would come out from underneath him, and we would topple into a wall of kegs. Literally. One Love had kegs stacked on kegs stacked on kegs on the far left end by the stage. 
As the kegs came tumbling down, Richard Simons pounced into action. Helping “My Future” (as I was at the moment) first up from the kegs, Mr. Simons asked “My Future” if he could buy her a shot.
“I’m sorry, I don’t take shots. You can, however, buy me a beer.”
Up to the bar, the infamous Discover card laid down.
Think that’s the end of the story? 
Not by a long shot.
---
Until yesterday, the irony that my costume was dubbed "My Future" when Husband and Wife met escaped me.
So, where were we? Right.... right... right... we were at the bar with the infamous Discover card.
I knew his name was Husband.
I knew he was an SAE pledge.
I knew I had a date night coming up & no idea how to ask a boy I didn't know out on a date.
(I'd learn, but it would take a while. I would learn a lot about the male persuasion, actually. Eventually, I would have to go on 865 other first dates before Husband.)
Two days later- those are the rules for the boys, right?- Two days later, the Stalker Guide (AKA the Greek Directory) was in my lap. Leafing through the fraternities until SAE and browsing the long list until the first Husband with the first 357 prefix of a phone number.
He was a freshman so he could be in the dorms.  It was a gamble- but you can't win if you don't play.
Ring....ring....ring...
My fingers start sweating. I swallow. It's a big school- how hard could this be? He says no- I never have to see him again.
ring....
Who am I kidding? I will just call an old high school friend and take them. I've been in Athens for two months. This is ridicu--
Them: Hello?
Me: Hi. This is Wife. Is Husband there?
Them: Which one?
Me: Hunh? Oh, well the one that's an SAE pledge.
Them: Which one?
Me: Um, the one's that from Moultrie.
Them: Which one?
Me: Oh uh, the one that's left handed.
Them: Which one?
Me: The one that wears glasses
Them: Which one?
Me: The one that has a little sister
Them: Which one?
Me: The one that... forget it. I don't want ask you out on a date anyway.
Me: Click.
Like I said- we met when we were freshmen. Not the end. Not by a long shot.
---
This story is so much better in person around the dinner table. It takes a long time to tell it- but in the end, it's totally worth it. I hate those stories that are completely encapsulated in "we met in a bar" or "we met at a date night in college" ... there is no panache, no zing, and just no life behind that statement.
So, I called Husband up and had no way to decipher between Husband and Roommate as both had
* Husband for a name
* hometowns in Moultrie
* glasses
* brown hair
* little sisters
* SAE pledge-ship
* left hand dominance
Seriously? What were the odds?
So, life moved forward to the greatest summer ever. Enter Team Prom. Enter "My Pious Friends & Drunken Companions." Enter 2004.
Wait, let's back up.
There are two summers that are truly iconic in my mind. Summers that exemplify what a summer should be and summers that dread the coming of fall and the ending of the greatest times.
Two.
Summers are always fun, but if you get one summer like this-- inseparable friends, tall tales, every day a new adventure, cold lake water, shag dancing in the sand, bon fires, hot sun, never a problem kind of summer, count your blessings.
I am lucky enough to have two.
The first was 2001.
When it ended, I was on a date at Speakeasy- what was supposed to be the Last Date with my summer love. We went into our summer knowing that we would conclude at Labor Day. It was pragmatic and it made sense. We were very sensible people.
The summer ended, he did not.
There I go again- getting ahead....
Summer, 2001.
It was my first summer in Athens. Brother had just graduated from UGA & he had this ah-mazing shack on Morton Ave, in the heart of Five Points and all things college. My roommates were my brothers two best friends, Frank & Murray. We shared a bathroom that had never been cleaned and I lived on the sun porch that had windows all the way around. I would open them at night when it rained and it felt like camping- complete with running water and a bathroom.
The shower had a window high enough to cover your goods and held a crackly radio. I wore flip flops in there and Frank taught me how to fix the toilet when it would not stop running. I lived off eggs and Diet Coke. It was summer of that song, "One bottle of wine, two dixie cups, three AM I fell in love...."
Miranda and I would stay up until dawn eating ice cream on the front porch. One of us would swing and the other would be sprawled out on the half wall that wrapped around the front porch. Across the street, a developer had torn down two houses and was replacing them with four "modern" homes for rent. We watched them being built that summer.
We would walk to Son's of Italy for dinner, hand wash our dishes, and build small fires in the backyard. We'd lay on the driveway when it was too hot to be inside with icy bottles and try to find a cooler temperature as July sweltered on.
The summer prior, I spent it at the beach and came back to Athens with an amazing tan and a new-found self confidence. No sweaty fingers. No worries. The first day back, the entire sophomore class convened at Bourbon Street bar where there was no air conditioner, the credit card machine didn't work, and all they had was Natural Light beer. Cheap-- but effective.
The SAEs were playing pool in the back, by the bathrooms. I made my way to the eternal ladies' line when a boy said, "WIFE!" from across the green felt. A smile between the two and Husband made his way over.
A high five between the future Mr. & Mrs. and we struck up a conversation. He passed his que off to his partner and bought us a round.
I bought the next.
He bought the last.
A high-five out and they were off to their antebellum mansion and we were off to ours. Summer was over & fall was here. Rush started the next day and there was ever-important work to be done.
And so, that is how it went that entire year. We would run into each other at the bars, on campus, at parties, on sidewalks, and on the road. Always with a high five, always one buying the first and the other buying the next. Always ending with a high five out.
Never a question for a phone number.
Never an invitation for a date or an upcoming social.
Never a question to relationship status.
Just a whole lot of high-fives and rounds of beer.
Enter spring 2001. This was getting a little ridiculous. I was looking for him when I went out, trying to be cool & not succeeding. The first week of April brought a horrible date from the Kappa Sigma fraternity down to Augusta & I thought I was going to kill him. So much for my cousin telling me how much fun he was. He wasn't. He forgot his wallet. He complained. He was annoying. And I had to spend the whole day with him on the golf course.
Whatever. I get back to Athens & see Husband's teal Ford Explorer the next day in a parking lot. Shuddering with the prior day still fresh on my mind, I had nothing to lose except a sheet of paper.
No hesitation: "Husband! Call me! It's your turn to buy! 555-4693 -Wife"
Literally, I skipped away.
He was going to call.
I was so sure, I went ahead and got a shower.
He was going to call.
I should probably go ahead and get my work done, so that when he called- I could go ahead and get ready.
He was going to call...
He didn't call.
What does this have to do with the summer? I'm getting there.
---
He didn't call.
How could he not call? I'm fun, I'm cool. I left a note. On a car. That's something someone fun & cool would do, right?
It's fine. It's totally fine. Whatever. Like I said- I'm fun... I'm cool.
I was showered, my work was done, and there was no way that after the dreadful date the day before was I going to sit around my sorority house feeling sorry for myself. There was no box to check in regards to my like-ability. It was not written in Crayola. No love had been confessed and I was surely not a secret admirer.
Nothing to be embarrassed about; it was just a note from a girl who wanted a free beer from a boy.
There is no better time and place to be a co-ed than springtime in Athens. It was springtime & I was a co-ed. Summer was around the corner and I would be moving to Morton Ave- my first time out of the sorority house.
I pull on my sexiest jeans, heels, and halter top. I make a plan that involves shooting pool at the Chi Phi house before heading downtown. I'm running out the door and heading to my Miata with the Nokia cell in my hand calling Miranda.
Back in my room, the phone rings.
He's calling! It's Husband! My purse hits the floor with the Nokia and my shoes. I'm rounding the corner back to my room before the second ring. Miranda is coming through the ear piece, "hello? hello?" from the floor.
Be cool... be cool...oh, geez, why am I too cheap for caller id? 
Hello? (breezy- I can be breezy. This is great. I'm already dressed with plans, so we can meet up later. That shows that this girl does not wait around the house to be called. Fun & cool people make their own plans.)
"Hey, Kid. How'd the date go yesterday?" the boy asked from his fraternity house a state away asked.
Husband? Husband Who?
"Hey, You. Awful. Just awful. He was miserable. Like 10 kinds of miserable. Who forgets their wallet when they are on a date at the Augusta National? Hell, who forgets their wallet- period? He did not even say thank you. To top off the last two days .... [insert story of the note on Husband's car here]....What really kills me? I have this KKG/Theta date night next week and I am not taking my cousin again. People are starting to talk. Ugh, I might skip it. It's not like I have to be in attendance to get the T-Shirt. But, Woodstick's playing and I hear they're great. Maybe I'll call [my cousin] and see if he is free."
A deep laugh over the long distance call and an unpredicted response, "Hey- take me. I'll be home next week. It'd be fun. I mean, unless you want to call T.D.J. [Terrible Date {Name}] back and see if he can make an even bigger ass out of himself. I'll spring for the drinks."
Wait? What? Was I getting asked out on a date? To my own social? Nope- just friends. Just. Friends. A bottle on those feelings had been corked up pretty tightly the last six months and there was no way I wanted a long distance relationship. Friendships are easier, anyway.
"Really? You'd go?" [what kind of question was that? Of course he'd go. I'm fun & COOL- remember?]
The week came and went. The Boy showed up at the house of a friend. A high five and we were out the door. We made a deal to date for the summer and be done. Long distance relationships are ridiculous and impractical in college. Four years later, we would still be together and making plans.
If you want to make God laugh, make a plan. In my case, God has laughed a lot.
The second greatest summer kicked off with a bang. I was wrapped up in my new girlfriends, making summer friends, working on my tan and putting some cash in my checking account. I had a great boyfriend who was not a terrible date, like all the 862 other terrible first dates I had been on. Frank and I would hang out on the porch when Miranda or The Boy were not around, eating turkey sandwiches and admiring the field in front of us that was growing houses. This summer was concerts, fireworks, beach trips, running through open grass fields at night and all things mischievous. I learned how to skip stones and took all day deep sea fishing trips with my dad. I'd snap more than one line and filet my own catch. I would be debbing in three months and there was dress shopping to be done. My little red Miata flew all over I-20 to the beach, back to Athens, and everywhere in between.
I forgot about the note. I forgot about Husband. There was too much else to do.
It seemed, that he forgot about me, too.
Did I mention that Frank was an SAE with Husband?
---
This next part is much shorter, as it comes from what Husband told me years later about The Note. 
Husband got out of his biology class early that April day and saw The Note. He read it, smiled (I added the smile) and headed back to the fraternity house to call me. He had no Nokia. Frank was there and K.C. was cooking lunch. 
The conversation broke down something like this: 
Hey, Frank. You know Brother, right?
Yeah- live with him. 
Cool, I was going to call Wife and see if she wanted to get together tonight. Ya know anything about her?
Wife? I think she’s dating someone
Really? She left me a note on my car to call her today. 
That’s really shady- yeah, I’m sure she’s dating someone and they are pretty serious, too. She took him to the Masters the other day. Brother hasn’t met him yet, but heard he was a real [insert a handheld device a mechanic would use].
Hunh, really?
Yeah. 
Uh-okay, never mind. 
And that.... was that. For now. 
---
I don’t care what side of the break up- whether break-er or break-ee- nobody leaves happy. 
The Boy & I made plans. Our plans fell through. 
My bags packed, my house sold, and I am home with my tail between my legs. Little did I know at that lonely moment I was not alone. 
Tractor was home. **
Prom Queen was home. ** 
Chicken was home. **
Copper was home. **
It was March and spring was around the corner. As in high school, Brother would let me pal around with him and his friends. My insurance practice was hardly off the ground and I was in the school of [very] hard knocks. It was the two of us, both newly single and both on the prowl. We were buddies in that way only siblings can be.
It was on one of these prowls that I reconnected with Prom Queen, a friend from 10 years prior. Queenie, for short, just moved home from Michigan. Prior to this, she did not qualify for the 2004 Summer Olympics USA rowing team. The other coxswain (pronounced Cox-N) and Queenie went head to head in the closest time ever noted. Queenie was 1/16 of a second slower than the future Olympic medal winner. She was on a date, so we exchanged numbers on our very modern flip phones and went about our evening. 
The next day while picking out paint chips for my new condo, Queenie actually called Wife. We made a dinner date. Over pizza and diet coke, a plan was hatched.
Being from Augusta, there is a natural want to inbreed. A transient city we are not. Friendships are formed on the first day of pre-k through parents who were best friends since birth. These relationships over crayons and construction paper will last through marriage and babies as the cycle continues. Queenie & Wife had these same friends, but wanted something more. We wanted to be friends with everyone- the cool kids, jocks, nerds, hippies, and everyone else. 
We wanted to be the Prom Queen(s).
It was an unfortunate joke that would stick with us & lay the roots for Team Prom. WWTPQD? (she would have fun.)
And so we were. We called ourselves Augusta’s Welcome Wagon. Everyone new to town could find a friend in us and we knew no stranger- they were sought out as future friends. Augusta is a hard nut to crack. No one loves our hometown more than Queenie & Wife, and we wanted everyone else to love it as much as we did. 
Forgetting every mother’s maiden name, who debbed where, or what silver pattern their grandmother had- we moved forward into the greatest summer ever. By opening our minds and stepping out of our comfort zone, we found undying friendships in each other and in our “DF&PC.”
We were willing to do everything ridiculous that seemed like it might lead to fun. Two weeks after the Masters was prom season. Eating lunch at Chicken’s restaurant, Queenie & Wife thought it would be an excellent idea to wear our prom dresses to the local watering hole (yes, the very same holograph dress) as it was our alma mater’s prom night. Queenie’s mother would drop us off at the door that night and toot the horn as she left. We’d catch cabs home. Our “dates” Tractor, Chicken, and Copper were told to wear tuxes... they thought we were kidding. 
So, there we were. Surrounded by friends and strangers alike. In our prom dresses last worn seven years prior. Six years if it was shiny. What should have been embarrassing did nothing short but cement ourselves and the start of a wonderful friendship.
Queenie passes me a pair of sunglasses from her circa 1996 purse and we step inside. The band stopped. Big John at the door gave us a high five & Mattie the bartender grabbed two Miller Lites for us. Cards dropped with Mattie and to the dance floor for Proud Mary with the likes of Miss Tu-Tu Divine.
We were in our early 20s, we knew everyone and wanted to know more, we were outgoing, getting boys phone numbers and not calling. We owned Augusta.
A few nights later, Queenie & I would be back at the same watering hole in jeans when a handsome medical student would walk up to us and ask for the Prom Queen’s name.
“Queenie,” she would say, “What’s yours?”
**sidenote: These ‘nicknames’ are what I am using to identify them as if trying to protect the innocent and guilty alike, however poorly. Some are better than others. We called ourselves many dumb things, but these names were not one of them, except for Prom Queen.**
---
I am at a complete writer's block right now because I want to get it right. I want this next part to convey all the fun, the youthfulness, and companionship we had during the greatest summer ever. So, here I sit- writing, erasing, writing, saving... rewriting.... trashing.... so, give me a minute. I'm getting back to the story of Husband.
How do I introduce the two law students and convey their personalities?
How do I explain the third grade romance and sixth grade actions?
There's so much to tell and I need to get it right.
So, just another moment please.
---
I know where the writer's block is coming from. I want to tell the story of the greatest summer ever- the summer of dancing in the middle of a cow field on fresh beach sand, a stove hiding in the unfinished den, the summer of boys, boys, and ... more boys. There were farm trips, camping trips, shanty trips, more than one lake rendezvous, and we are not even to the fourth of July.
We would keep watermelons cold by throwing it in the lake. We would have high school parties and spend our mornings planning our evenings. We would work when we needed money, but mostly tried to pass the time until we were together again. Every night brought a new adventure, a new disposable camera and new pictures from the night before.
This was the last summer of truly being young and carefree, while still being an adult. We were in our twenties. We were carefree and we were in love with being out of love.
It was awesome.
It was the summer that changed everything. 
Is is, however, a different story.
So, let's back up...
Prom Queen & I were at the twenty-somethings Social Mecca. A medical student would boldly make his way to the Mediterranean goddess that stood next to me (AKA- Prom Queen) and introduce himself. I didn't catch his name but caught the tail of the conversation as he walked off; Prom Queen's number in his phone.
"There is no way he is in medical school," I said, maybe a little too matter-of-factly.
"Oh, I know," PQ said, "But, good grief he's cute. He said he'd call me tomorrow."
"I mean, it's Wednesday," I said, "What medical student could go out on Wednesday night & be at school on Thursday?"
Turns out, that since we were not medical students.... we did not know.
"What was his name, anyway? He looks familiar...." Wife said...
John.
John never folded into Team Prom the way everyone else did. At one point, he commented that we spoke our own language (we did) and asked if we had been friends since third grade (we weren't). John needed reinforcements. John needed bait.
What group of twenty-somethings can turn down a baseball game? Team Prom was having a prom committee meeting at a baseball game on a Thursday evening in early May. Section 22, behind the first base line. Maybe it was outfield? Whatever, we weren't there for the game. We had no idea who we were playing. Much like the [Masters] Tournament, there are two types: Those that go to see and those that go to be seen.
Team Prom was in the second category. And it was bad ass.
PQ & I arrived fashionably late. John was waiting for us with his class who had just finished exams and they were ready to blow it out of the water. Every first year medical student in section 21 had a cup in hand and handful in the bleachers at their flip-flopped feet in front of them. They were pale as the fluorescent bulbs of the library fail to give that healthy Vitamin D glow we all strive for. But, they looked relaxed & happy to be out from the cadavers, professors, and elated about the glorious four months that stretched before them- their last four months of freedom.
We paid our $8 to get in, grabbed $1 cup and started over to the stairs between Section 21 & Section 22- our locals were in 22 & Team Prom was waving from the top. I had on a (probably too short) pink linen skirt & PQ was wearing a (definitely too short) madras patchwork skirt. We had spent the day on the river before showering and heading downtown to the baseball stadium.
And then, there are those days that everything just goes right. Your hair is a little easier to style and looks jaw-dropping. The radio is playing all great music. The too tight skirt is a little looser. There are nothing but green lights. A nice man smiles and lets you cut in front of him as he is still waiting. Someone dropped a $5 bill. There is that long lost friend who screams your name out of the blue. And you know everyone. It's just one of those days when the winds are in your sails and the sun is kissing your face.
This day was my green-light-$5-kind of day. Everything was going right. I had my very best friend, Prom Queen as my running mate and we were out to conquer everything without fear. We start climbing the stairs heading up to the Team and everyone knows us. It was probably the first time since being in high school and going to the home football game that this has happened.
"Hey, Clark."
"Hey, Wife."
"Hey, Michelle."
"Hey, Wife."
"Hey, Robert!"
"Wife!"
"Jordan! How are you?"
A shake of his cup & nod answered my question.
You get the idea, it was amazing- looking left to our old friends and right to our college friends and friends of friends- climbing the stairs to our troupe. John got up and walked towards Prom Queen for a kiss before continuing to climb. I caught sight of a face that looked familiar in Section 21, next to Jordan, but could not place his name. Continuing to climb, the drawl of a recognized south Georgia boy said, "Maiden Wife. How the hell are ya?" and took a sip from his cup. Obviously, some liquid courage was needed, because Look At Me. I know everyone. I'm hot. I'm awesome. I'm so much older than that nervous new kid in Athens who went on 862 first dates.
I look. I stare. I'm clueless. His name... good grief... what. is. his name. Hell. quick, think fast....
nothing.
"Hey, Sweetheart- the question is, 'How are you?' and 'Where have you been all my life?'" Yeah, that'll buy me a second....
Come on, Moultrie, glasses, little sister, SAE pledge, oh GEEZ, left handed, this is ridiculous... what is his name?
WHAT IS HIS NAME?
Keep moving. You're cool. You wait for no one.
I climb to the top, while Prom Queen stops and meets John's band of pale ones before we call the meeting to order.
"Husband was cute, how do you know him?" she would ask.
HUSBAND! That was his name! HUSBAND!
"Long story, but I haven't seen him in ages. Last I heard, he was dating one of my pledge sisters- I think..."
---
John might have seen it.
John might have made it up.
Either way, John needed reinforcements within Team Prom. He was not going anywhere- the Mediterranean Goddess (AKA: Prom Queen) was way cool & he was way into her. So much so that he would travel half way around the world to find her in Greece to profess his undying love. She would leave him there. True story.
The weekend was upon us. The glorious too warm to be inside and too cold to actually be in the pool weekend stretched out before us. Prom Queen was with John when I came by her pool that afternoon to make plans for the evening. A round of high fives and we start making plans.  As a lull in the conversation approaches, John finds a break and speaks up.
“Hey, Wife. I know someone who thinks you’re hot. He asked for your number, can I give it to him?”
“Uhhh... I’m not really wanting to date anyone. But, who is it?”
“Husband.”
My ears perk.
“SAE, Husband?”
“Yeah”
“Moultire, Husband?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess... listen, do you want me to give him your number or would you just rather say I forgot?”
“oh... um... yeah... you can...”
I pause. Here I am, fearless about everything... except a relationship. Those always end poorly. I cannot do this. 
There are my sweaty fingers. Is it hot out here? 
MG-PQ laughs and says, “Come on, Wife? Seriously? Husband’s hot. How long are you going to tread water? How long?”
She was right, the worst that could happen is he’s not fun and we move on to the next.
“yeah... HELL YEAH... Yes.” [gaining some composure] “You can give him my number. Please. Thank you, John.”
“Ya sure?”
“She’s sure,” MG-PQ says and tosses a towel at me. I’m blushing.
Fast forward a few days. John & Husband are playing golf... or exercising... or drinking beer on the river... I’m not sure and it does not matter... but, the conversation breaks down something like this:
“Hey, you remember my girl, MG-PQ?”
“Yeah, she’s hot. We should start calling her Hot MGPQ.” (we would and still do)
“Well, she’s got a friend who thinks you’re cute.”
“No sh*t?”
“Yeah, you might remember her from Athens. She graduated a year ahead of us.”
“Who? I didn’t keep up with that class.”
“No, she was our year, just left early. It’s Maiden Wife.”
“Wife? No Sh*t. I thought she was with someone or married or something.”
“Nope. Listen, she wanted me to give you her number. I can tell her I forgot if you want.”
“Wife? Geez, she was always so much fun. Are you sure she’s single?”
“Yes. She asked me about you.”
“Yeah. Hell yeah. Yes. What’s her number?”
---
It was Thursday and there was a home game. H-MGPQ & I were back. We paid our $8 to get in, grabbed $1 cups and headed to the top of Section 22 as there was a new prom committee meeting. The weekend was around the corner & there were plans to be made. 
It seems we were always making plans. 
John was there, poor guy, looking lost like a puppy without H-MGPQ. He really liked her and she really liked southern boys. After spending 4+ years in Michigan, she was ready to be back in God’s Country. Their relationship blossomed out of nothing and was surprising to everyone. She wanted a boyfriend like she wanted a heart attack, but she liked the attention and he liked her- so it worked, for the moment. 
The meeting called to order, someone excuses themselves to pick up a new round of $1 cups. The innings pass and people cheer. T-shirts are shot out of a gun and we are sweating with the heavy heat that comes every May, leaving every October. The seventh inning stretch rounds the corner and the meeting is concluded with a relocation specification to Somewhere. 
Somewhere in Augusta-- what a great name for a restaurant/bar. 
“Where are you going?” can easily and with a hint of cockiness be answered with “Somewhere.” As if to say- MYOdB.
Team Prom leaves the field and reconvenes in the backyard of Somewhere. Overhead twinkles light the area and the smell of fresh grass floats over the fence from across the way-- across the way being the Augusta National and fresh grass being code for sickly sweet smell of fertilized greens. These are the places we call ‘our backyard’ or ‘first dates.’ Girls that know nothing about golf are found with golf shoes & a visor one week out of the year. Boys secretly dream of playing The Course and contemplate if it is easier to go pro or become a member. We would learn later in life that going pro would be the answer.
John was with us and the rest of Team Prom were sitting around a wrought iron table laughing at something that alludes me at this moment. It was another great evening. John leaned over and said, “Hey- have you heard from Husband yet? He said he was going to call sometime this week I thought.”
“No, it’s cool though. I haven’t been waiting by the phone or anything.”
I pause. I am contemplating. Who am I kidding? I was full of false courage- there was no thinking to it. My purse appeared in my lap, my flip phone in my hands before I could think it through.
“Hey, John- what’s his number?”
H-MGPQ laughed and said, “Uh-oh, she’s got another in the crosshairs.”
I stick my tongue out at her as the 6 year old I feel like while the phone rings in my ear.
“Hello?”
“Husband? Wife. We’re at Somewhere and someone just bought a fresh pitcher. See you in 20?”
My hands were shaking- who was this girl? Where did this false courage come from? Whatever. He could be fun to pal around with.
“20? There better still be a pitcher when I get there.”
“If not, it’s your turn to buy.”
click.
---
He came. After all the go-arounds and around-gos, he showed up and folded into Team Prom as if he had been there since the beginning.
John was speechless. It was okay though, H-MGPQ spoke for him.
About a month later, Husband would ask me on a date upon his return for being a camp counselor at Camp Rainbow- a place for children with cancer.
I would, very hesitantly, say yes.
He picked me up from my apartment, the white lilies he sent changing the air to that of a garden. I loved flowers and had forgotten that.
He opened the passenger door for me. I forgot how much I liked that, too.
He took me on the fanciest date ever. I had never eaten at the Bamboo Room and felt ten kinds of elegant with this handsome Husband.
He paid. He remembered his wallet. He opened the door for me again. He told me to open his glove compartment. I did.
A stained and folded piece of paper...
"Husband! Call me! It's your turn to buy! 555-4693 -Wife"
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