Jordan,
I still remember the first birthday that we celebrated together. It was just days after the homecoming dance, and we were making up any excuse we could think of to see each other.
Did you study for that test yet? Me neither. I think I could use a study partner.
Do you need a ride home?
You should really meet my dog.
You even drove a batch of “homemade” brownies from your kitchen all the way to my house at nine o’ clock at night, and then later confessed they weren’t really homemade at all.
So when I heard it was your birthday, I knew it was my turn to make sure we wound up spending it together. And it wasn’t just any birthday. You were turning eighteen. Eighteen. The number that tells us we are old enough to enlist, but still have to be home before midnight. The age of “I voted” stickers and “Will you go to prom with me?” That weird in-between number where the rules declare that we are adults while our parents roll their eyes at the very thought. Regardless, eighteen was a big deal, and I made sure we would spend your first day of being an official grown up together.
It was a school night, and we both had practice. You, soccer. Me, dance rehearsals. But we weren’t going to let that get in the way. I convinced you that I at least needed to buy you some birthday boy dessert (a tradition that still persists to this day), so you agreed and let me take you out to satisfy your sweet tooth craving. You told me you loved apple pie, so naturally, I suggested Applebee’s.
You know, the romance capital of the world.
The restaurant of dreams.
I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to marry you right then.
We sat in a cozy booth in the corner, shared that hot apple pie and cheered to adulthood. The check came too quickly, and neither one of us wanted the night to be over, so you suggested a walk, and I couldn’t have been happier. I still remember walking in the cool November air that night and the way it felt on my skin. I mentioned how cold it was, to which you immediately made your best Rico Suave face, ripped off your big leather jacket in slow motion, placed it around my shoulders while you raised your eyebrow and, without missing a beat, replied, “I’ll keep you warm.” We both laughed at what almost became the most cliche high-school-date-moment of our lives, and I knew in that moment we were going to be best friends. Nobody made me laugh like you. We walked and talked for hours. About everything.
Your eighteenth birthday was our first official date, and nine birthdays later, I still remember it like it was yesterday. Every year that goes by, I don’t think I can love you more, and every year, you prove me wrong. Thank you for being the man who will take me out for a night on the town, but would rather snuggle in our sweatpants with a good movie on the couch. Thank you for the being the man who I can always be proud of, and the one who makes me laugh, and the one I can always call partner. You have made my life better than I could have ever imagined. On your eighteenth birthday, I was looking for any excuse to spend time with you, and now, nine years later, I want to thank you for giving me the greatest excuse of all: letting me be your wife.
With all my love,
Amy
Photo Credit: Melissa Jill