Twelve years or so ago, I met the man I would marry. The reason I’m thinking about that?
Today is our wedding anniversary. We have a date planned this evening, so after I write this entry I’m going to skedaddle to try and make myself pretty. But first… I feel like reminiscing.
We hadn’t known each other that long when he told me, “Within two years, I’m going to marry you.”
To which I said, “Schyeah, right.”
Imagine his immense satisfaction when we were standing before the minister in Vegas within the time frame he’d specified. At the time, I had a bad dye job, and I’d gotten my hair cut off in a fit of pique. In the old days, when I was upset, I ran off to the salon and got a terrible haircut. Now, I don’t even remember why I got the cut. I’ve since learned to curb that awful impulse, but back then, my hair was short and orange-blond. In my wedding picture, no less. Why’d he marry me when I looked like such a fright?
He loved me.
Marriage has so many cycles. There are highs and lows, points where you seem to fight every weekend, and periods where you don’t talk at all. Sometimes you wonder what made you choose to hook yourself to a crazy person for the rest of your lives. Sometimes you think, “Oh my god, I will never have sex with anyone else, ever.” The longer you’re married, the less this happens, I think. Or at least, that’s been the case for me.
Sometimes I curl up at night and admire the way his hair curls against his neck, the way he smells fresh from the shower, and the way he knows how to exert exactly the right amount of pressure when he’s running his fingers down my back right before I fall asleep. Sometimes I’m happy to realize I’ll never to have look for a date for a function, never have to go through an awkward breakup again. I take comfort in the way he knows what to get me from Starbucks on Sunday morning without even asking (White Mocha Frappuccino and a blueberry muffin).
And sometimes when we’re out to dinner with the whole family, I see the way his eyes return to me even when I’m not talking. It’s the hand he puts over mine, the arm he wraps around my shoulders, like he wants people to know I belong to him. The magic of building a life together is looking forward to stolen kisses and laughing when the kids go “ew” when they catch us. It’s him coming into the kitchen a little too late and asking, “Can I do anything to help?” Then we both laugh because his timing is impeccable.
I know he wants very much to make me happy, but sometimes he doesn’t know how. And I don’t always make it easy because I must regretfully admit to being one of those women. I don’t want to tell him what’s wrong with me, why I’m sad, or what I need to fix it. When I’m upset, I think, entirely irrationally, that “if he loved me, he’d know.” Which I know is wrong, and I’m working on that. I will also confess that on occasion, I’ve actually said, “You know what you did” when he expresses confusion as to why he’s in trouble. I’m working on that too.
There have been successes and failures between us, but we’re still together. I’m pleased with where we are. And I’m really, really proud of him. Some of you may not know this, but our family runs a pharmaceutical company here in Mexico. Here is their mission:
“To make the best quality medicines at affordable prices for the entire population”
They want to make health care accessible. To that end, they’ve instituted a program with their pharmacy franchise, where they keep a doctor on staff. He sees patients for a nominal fee (20 pesos, which is less than $2). Bruluart basically eats the doctors salary, and then the patients can purchase their required medicines from the pharmacy on site.
My husband is part of that. They manufacture medicines for the government for clinics and hospitals. He’s helping to make the world a better place. So when he tells me that his day was boring and he doesn’t have any glamorous news to report, I tell him I’m proud of him. See, he’s helping the sick and making health care accessible to the impoverished whereas I just write stories.
Happy anniversary, Andres.