While my wedding didn’t much matter to me, my marriage did. I loved being married. A steadfast, consistent companion who had your back. Plus sex. I was surprisingly happy being a wife. I liked sharing a life with someone, and I liked being someone’s ‘person’.
My husband was a server at a high-end restaurant, while I managed a high-end salon and spa. We worked basically the opposite hours, but still found time to be together and do lots of fun things. He loved to cook. He liked to shop for groceries. And. He cleaned. It was an overweight, non-domestic goddess’ dream come true!
We had tons of intense, meaningful conversations about our different upbringings; his parents led intensely money-conscious lifestyles, while my parents lived the exact opposite way of life. He was very religious and went to a small private Catholic school; transversely, I grew up agnostic at best, and went to a huge public high school. These differences kept our conversations interesting and never-ending. He and I could talk forever about any subject…usually because we disagreed, but always respecting each other and those opposing views. He and I never fought about our polar opposite viewpoints.
In fact, as I type, I can not think of any arguments or fights before the Hurricane. I am sure we annoyed each other during that year and 2 months, like when we played Scrabble, one of us would always end up needing a brisk walk. We may have had to replace some Yahtzee dice, but nothing serious. He and I were very comfortable living independently, even when we shared a home those two months of marriage. My husband loved the video games you put a headset on for, and talk to complete strangers while combating in a fictional, virtual war. They did not bother me, though, because I would watch and make up my own backgrounds for these faux soldiers, and why they were trying to kill each other. Most of his unknown, online ‘friends’ told him he was lucky to have a wife that did not mind his game enthusiasm. I could sometimes hear him, while I was lying in our bedroom, say to his fellow fake warriors, ‘she doesn’t care if I go to bed with her; it’s awesome!’
It was awesome. We both worked hard. He would cook for me and my friends. I really felt special when he would do that. I had inherited some very 70s style tablecloths and napkins from my great aunt, and I really loved setting the table while he cooked and my friends drank wine. It felt very ADULT. And, it felt like I was a part of a team. I didn’t play sports once I realized I could cry to get out of them, so I never knew the feeling of relying on, and supporting your teammates. Feels great.
My marriage wasn’t perfect, no marriage is, but my marriage was going very smoothly. We had goals, both professionally and personally. He was fully at peace with my sincere disinterest in having children, harping on the fact that we could travel with the money we would save being child-free. We had already traveled a bit and enjoyed ourselves a lot. I’ll never know how long this smooth marriage could have continued, because two months after we entered this wedded bliss the worst thing ever blew up my whole world.