Confessions of Jersey Girl

This is the love story of Amy and Andrew.

The way we met was average—he worked with a good friend of mine, who held a fondue party for friends and co-workers, and as soon as I entered the room, he came over to talk to me as I hovered over the melted chocolate and yummy dipping fruits (okay, fine, really the marshmallows and pound cake, but whatever!).

“Why is that fruit so brown?” he asked.  “Didn’t she just cut it?”

I then launched into a discussion about oxidization of fruit, and how no, it didn’t go bad, it was just the air mixing with the acid and as I finished my incredibly nerdy explanation, he introduced himself as Andrew.  We sat next to one another the rest of the night, and talked constantly, albeit a bit drunkly, about life.  Later, I realized that he was a science nerd and was just using the fruit question as a cute opening line.  I’m glad I passed the test.

After the party, I was giddy, and sent him a casual email, offering to show him around, as he’d just moved to California from Illinois.  We made plans to hang out a few days later.  We chatted over coffee and then saw “I Am Legend,” which remains one of my least favorite movies of all time.  We were both nervous—I ran a red light while driving us to the theatre; he criticized my love of rap music, and our first kiss over a glass of wine was a bit awkward.  OK, a lot awkward, we were standing and I FELL DOWN.  Like an idiot.

Still, there was a spark.  From then on out, we were in each other’s lives.

It wasn’t easy.  The first few months of our relationship reads as a “What NOT To Do” advice article.  We were both still involved with other people and had some trouble defining our boundaries, resulting in tears, hurt and heartache on both sides.  Andrew and I are both incredibly, incredibly stubborn, and we don’t back down from one another.  We dealt with the loss of his job and the stresses of my first year of teaching, of breaking up several times because we both didn’t know what the hell we were doing, together OR apart for that matter.

But last summer, as we had yet another angry conversation, we sat on his front lawn and asked the hard questions.  Did we want to be together?  Were we willing to put aside everyone else, and everything else and see what we could be, just the two of us?  We agreed, yes, we could and we should.

And then we worked on falling in love.  We watched TV and movies, made one another breakfast, went on dates, stayed in, played games.  He got to know my family, and I flew to Illinois to meet his.  We yelled and fought, but mostly loved.  We broke down walls and learned who the other was.  It was tough, yes.  But it was worth it.

Our relationship is not easy, still.  There are hurts and worries and struggles, just as all relationships have.  There are days when we both wonder: can we do this?  We don’t always see life through the same lens, and we don’t always agree.  But there is love, and there is laughter, and there is a relationship that is more raw, vulnerable and intimate than any I’ve ever been a part of.

A former roommate once labeled our relationship as a Sex In The City style “dating urban legend”: making it with someone who seemed disastrous from the outset.  I don’t think it’s an urban legend—I think it’s a lot of hard work, dedication and a desire to be with the other.  I wake up next to Andrew every day and think that every single second has been worth it, for just that good morning kiss and knowing that at night, when I crawl into bed, he’s going to be there.