You’re not roommates!

I woke up the next morning next to my roommate, and was stricken with panic. What had I done? I tried to gather my thoughts in the few moments I had before he woke up. “Hey,” he smiled at me. “Hey,” I replied. “How are you feeling?” I paused, steadying myself. “I have a lot of doubts.” “Okay,” he said. “What are your doubts?” This is how we started our relationship: an honest conversation. “I’m looking to get married,” I told him. “I know,” he replied. “I’ve considered that.” We laid together in the morning light. Each considering the implications. Caleb and I had been exchanging stories for a few months. There had been nothing to suggest he was ready for marriage. But he knew my intention. We slept together that first night in November, but the next night I thought we should sleep apart. My sister advised me to “go slow.” The second night I could only think about him. That was the last time we slept apart in the same house. — I had been talking with a friend a few months before. “I just want one more good chance to fall in love.” One more time to feel that giddy exhilaration. Caleb gave me the butterflies. When we decided to date, I was already obsessed with his company. We were already living together, so we plunged headfirst into deep intimacy. We made plans to take a mini vacation the same weekend we got together, but my dad was hospitalized that Friday. I left work and rushed over. When I returned home several hours later, worried and exhausted, I found Caleb at the dining table. He had baked a me pie and bought Christmas lights for the house. Our house. He went to the hospital with me the next morning, making me coffee at 6 so we could be there in time for my dad’s procedure. “This is my roommate,” I explained to the nurse. My dad still didn’t know. She saw us in the waiting room and cocked her head at us together. “You’re not roommates,” she said with a wry smile. — We took the postponed trip two weeks later. “I’ve read about this thing,” I told him on the drive. “I’d like to try it.” And so we settled in to our hotel room with two glasses of wine. We alternated asking each other 36 questions in order of increasing depth, plunging in headfirst. He told me all of his secrets. “Why did we agree to do that?” we ask now. — The way he loves me gets through to me. I never really considered love in this way, but his is a love I am able to accept. I was in a really low place when he started pulling me toward him. I needed to be seen and heard, and I feel that he really sees me, he hears me. When he tells me he loves me, I can feel that it’s unconditional. He likes me the way I am. The way we love is complementary. All the things I need from him are easy for him to give, and all the things he wants are things I love to give. He is generous with his time, talents and presence. He has unending patience for my ideas and stories. Or maybe that fact is that he doesn’t have to have patience, he just enjoys my company. How am I so lucky as to be the recipient of these things? It seems like he understands me instinctively. It feels like I’ve known him forever, like he’s always been with me. Being with him comes naturally, intuitively. — The relationship progressed so quickly, one day I was suddenly awash with fear. “What?” he asked me. He can always tell. “This is scary,” I said. “What is?” “This.” His eyebrows inched downward, his head tilted slightly. “Why?” “Acknowledging that this could be the one. You could be the one. It’s a lot.” He looked into my eyes, trying to see it. “I don’t get it,” he said. “It’s a lot. It’s a lot of hope to put into one person.” — There is so much at stake. Because I really fell for him, really quickly, and realized I was placing a lot on faith. Faith that who I am seeing is who he really is. That who he will be in the future will also be someone I like. That he won’t get up and leave. Then the second wave of it hits me. It’s a big commitment for me, too. To be the steward of this precious human being. The one that he is placing his trust in. Trust that I will continue to see him and love him as he grows and changes. That I’ll carry his secrets and cherish him, with the good and the bad. I send missives to the universe, wishes for what we are creating. Let’s agree to see the ugliness in one another. Let us see it and know it and love each other anyway. We won’t ignore it, but we won’t celebrate it. You push me to be better and I’ll push you. And if progress is slow, I’ll still be here. Here we are, each in our own fragility. Let us each recognize the gift that is our mutual vulnerability. I’ll treasure you and keep you safe. — “I’m scared,” he told me later. “Of what?” He was silent for a moment. “What if…” “What if this doesn’t work out?” He nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a lot of expectation.” “It’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.” These are the brief moments of doubt. The moment of panic when I think, “I can’t do this.” It’s a lot. But we agree to see the magic in one another, agree to have faith that it’s there. — I am afraid. These feelings I have mean the stakes are high. Here’s where I think I should close my eyes and jump. Except that he’s taken my hand and said we can do it together. — Life is turbulence But we’ve built a little boat Let’s keep on rowing Soundtrack this week: Take Care by Beach House I’ll take care of you if you’d ask me to