Like a Best Friend | ✓

epilogue

When Sarah Cohen wants something, she works until she has it, which made it difficult to rein her in when it came to the post-wedding wedding party she was so desperate to throw for Kitty and me. Over a period of a couple of weeks, we managed to talk her out of throwing a huge ceremony in the middle of November, less than a month after Kitty was supposed to have married Levi. It took a while to convince her that we really didn't want it, that we weren't just being gracious.

Instead, on the first night of Hanukkah, my family and Kitty's family gathered at her parents' mini mansion out in Cambridge and, forty days after we got married, we exchanged proper wedding rings under a canopy in the garden where Kitty grew up. It gave us a chance to share our vows, too. On our actual wedding night, we repeated everything the officiant said. But in front of our families, we spoke from our hearts before the reciting of the three blessings and the lighting of the menorah.

It was perfect. More perfect than I thought it would be. I didn't want to step on the toes of the holiday celebrations but it was Sarah's idea. Hanukkah means dedication, after all, she said, and it's a celebration of bringing light to the world. What better time for Kitty and me to proclaim our dedication to one another?

Now we have two anniversaries to celebrate. The one we kept for ourselves, and the one we shared with the people we love.

Today, however, is neither.

I can't believe that just over a year ago, I was counting down the hours until I joined my best friend on her honeymoon and I didn't understand why I was so relieved that she'd called off her wedding. A year ago today, I spilled my guts to her after having the revelation of all revelations, the realization that would change the entire trajectory of my life. I guess it's a third anniversary of sorts. The day we went from best friends to lovers.

When I was in the midst of it, when I was convinced my love would be forever unrequited, it was the most exquisite pain. Now I wouldn't change it for anything. That week of heartache, when I yearned in secret, was beyond worth it for its reward. The woman sleeping next to me now, her semi-naked body washed in early dawn light, the sun painting amber highlights in her glossy chestnut hair. I roll onto my side to kiss her sleep-warm shoulder, inhaling the scent of her.

This will never grow old. Every morning I wake up before her and I watch her for a moment, the steady way she breathes when she is deeply asleep, her lips parted, her eyes fluttering. Every morning I make coffee and the aroma rouses her; when I return to the bedroom, I can almost guarantee she will be sitting up in bed, yawning or stretching or rubbing her eyes, and she will take a mug from me with a grateful smile.

This morning I make it a little stronger. We've got a busy day ahead of us.

It's five days before Halloween, one year and a little under two weeks since Kitty and I flew to Las Vegas. The fall foliage is at its best, Boston so beautiful this time of year: half of the leaves are still green, half of them beautiful shades of crimson and rust and gold. In two days, we will have been married for twelve whole months, and I couldn't have asked for a better year with my wife. She lights up my world every single day, every single night.

The sun only finished its slow dawn rise a matter of minutes ago but I can tell it's going to be a beautiful day. I open the kitchen window as I brew the coffee and the crisp air is cool, the sun already bright, shades of blue seeping into the yellow sky . A perfect fall day with that autumn smell in the air, damp and earthy and sweet, although we won't get to enjoy much of it because in ninety minutes, we'll be standing in a security line at Boston Logan ahead of six and a half hours on a plane from one end of the country to the other.

When I return to the bedroom with coffee, Kitty is sitting up, her face screwed up in the middle of a yawn. "Morning, gorgeous," I say, setting her mug on her bedside table. Hers is a mess – a stack of books she's either halfway through or about to start; two half-drunk glasses of water; yesterday's coffee mug and several scrunchies and an open pack of make-up wipes. Mine is the opposite. The one book I'm reading right now; my glasses case; a water bottle.