Before them, there was you. There were drinks purchased, a polite gesture. There were numbers exchanged. There were first dates at sushi restaurants where I taught you how to hold chop sticks, and you told me about your family. There were awkward pauses, long drives, and anticipation before the first kiss. There was the ease of learning someone new. There was an instant fit, not only your hand in mine, but in my life: the missing piece. There were trips planned days after meeting. The talk of future rolled seamlessly off your tongue and instead of running away, I filled my mind with our future too.

We went to Disney, you picking it because you knew it was my happy place.  After our flight back, I never left your apartment. We never really had that conversation, I just never left again. You were my home and where you called home I called home. I knew I was your home too. We learned more, secrets, quirks, annoying habits, favorite ice cream. The several things to say that would push buttons, the hug to give that could instantly make things better. We explored our little seaside town, and partied until the morning with friends. I bought throw pillows and real curtains, and left a piece of me and lots of messes in every room.

Families were met. We invited my dad over for home cooked dinners, and I knew it meant the world to him. My mom started clearing out my old bedroom, knowing I’d never return. I prepared Thanksgiving for you and some Navy friends when they couldn’t go home- I think I slightly burnt the turkey. We had our first Christmas. I cried because you didn’t seem that interested in taking a “family” picture with our dogs. But you understood when I told you I was excited to have a reason for a Christmas photo, and we set up the tripod a few feet from our Charlie Brown tree laughing hysterically at the failed attempts. We spent New Years with your family on a cruise ship, drinking rum and forgetting about work for awhile. That spring we went to the submarine ball, met new friends and spent our weekends roaming the streets of Portsmouth.

That summer I lost my dad. It was a dark few months, but you were there. We spent a week in the mountains. I cried a lot, you held me and told me you loved me. A few months later you got down on one knee and promised forever. Not soon after, you volunteered to deploy on another ship for two months, leaving me proud but vulnerable. We quickly found a venue and set a date before you left. I crammed Thanksgiving and Christmas into a week and then you were gone. I was without you. A brief introduction to how our life would be. I missed you but used the time to better myself, and when you came home I was a stronger version than when you left.

We got orders: Charleston, SC and spent a few days exploring and house hunting. We purchased our first home together, ironically not really looking twice at the small secondary bedrooms. I had a big kitchen, you had your man cave, and the dogs had a yard. We moved down not too long after; I left everything I’d ever known. My friends, my family, officially leaving my old bedroom as a parting gift to my mom. Your work schedule was tough but I occupied myself with a new career, decorating our home, and making some friends.

We got married in the fall in Maine, on the most perfect September day. We wobbled, cheered, and laughed with the people we love. Our “honeymoon” was the drive back home, back to reality.

After, our weekends were spent keeping up with the house, having visitors, and making memories in our new town. We took our honeymoon six months later, to Costa Rica. We ziplined, snorkeled, and relaxed in the sun. Those were the best 9 days of my life and I made you promise “every five years.”

A few weeks later I showed you two lines. Our world was about to change. The next nine months would not be about us, but about me, my belly, and whether they were “grape” or “orange” sized. There would be excitement, anticipation and planning. In seven months we would meet two miniature people, become parents and discover a whole new meaning of love and life.

Four years later: we are spouses, we are parents, we are still best friends. Our lives will continue to be filled with adventures and struggles but I’ll never forgot the days of just two and the hand I held to get me to where we are today.

Before them, there was us, there was you.