11.

Feb 2, 1995

She married me. She didn't realize what a royal idiot I really am and run off screaming. It was not the wedding I wanted to give her, but it was what she says she wanted.

Tonight she was worried I'd be bent out of shape because it seems that morning sickness and a honeymoon don't mix well, but hell, why would I be upset? I have the rest of my life to be with this amazing woman . She needs to sleep through some of the queasiness and I can handle that. It's enough to sit here and watch her sleep and realize that without a doubt, I got it right this time.

Hell, in the history of people getting things right, no one has ever gotten anything more right than I got this.

We did have the wedding I wanted. We got married surrounded by our closest friends, and we knew that their happiness for us was real. I never had that vision of a big wedding in a church, and I don't think I had considered marriage as something I wanted until after the first time Ian kissed me.

Still, I didn't think that our honeymoon was the time to beg off with a headache and massive queasiness, but he honestly didn't seem to mind. I think that started his habit of watching me sleep; it's one of the few times he can sit still and not try to do three things at once, and sometimes I'll start to wake up and I can feel that he's there, watching me breathe. I woke up after a long nap on our honeymoon and he was sitting by the bed, and the way he was looking at me made me feel utterly, completely loved.

And that hasn't changed. I catch him in unguarded moments, and the way he looks at me still makes me feel like my legs are going to turn to water, and when he's not at home I still find myself ticking off the time until he'll be back. His kisses still turn me to jelly inside, and I still melt at his fingers sliding across my skin.

But more than that, he is an amazing father, and I don't think our children can truly appreciate how wonderful he is with them. He loves them fiercely, unconditionally, and he respects them as individuals in a way that sometimes surprises me. He cultivates their interests and is willing to spoil them, just a little, so that they can really explore the world. He listens to them and considers their opinions, even when he can't let them have their own way. If I've pestered him to consider adopting again, it's because he is such a good father, and he has so much love to give.

Fifteen years ago I was certain that we would still be together now. I couldn't have known how many times I would come close to losing him in those first few years and how painful that would be. I didn't stop to think that just because we were over the moon in love that might not be enough; it might not be enough to save him from the ravages of toxic shock and a heart attack, or the agony of losing his mother at a time when we were as emotionally exhausted as we were physically. And I could never have imagined how broken he would be at the chance that he might lose me. Of everything that happened with my accident last year, that's what sticks with me the most. I had fractures and injuries, but he was broken.

I have never doubted, not since those early days when I was caught up in wondering what was wrong with me, that he loves me. He has never had a problem with showing me just how much, even when we've been at our angriest. He can be mad as hell and envisioning my head exploding, but he will always, always stop to tell me he loves me. In a dozen little things he does every day, he shows me.

I've never had that ability, I don't think, to show him so easily how much he means to me, and how empty I would be without him.

All those years ago he wanted to know what I had been waiting for. I couldn't have given him an honest answer then, because I couldn't see the bigger picture. But I think back to that moment when we met, the crushing feeling of being told he was married, and that every man I dated after that just didn't measure up. I think back to every time he sought me out just to hand over routine paperwork, and the smile he didn't seem to have for anyone else. I think back to the sparks I wouldn't have admitted to at the time, and that no one was surprised we wound up together, and I know what I was waiting for.

I was waiting for him.

We both got it right. I am so grateful for the gift of having fifteen years with him and I can only hope for fifteen more, and fifteen beyond that. He amuses me with his nearly paranoid levels of secrecy—I doubt he'll ever be open with people online about where we live and what he used to do, even though most have guessed—and he sometimes surprises and irritates me with his otherwise open frankness, but I can't imagine wanting him to ever be anything other than what he is.

What he is is wonderful, patient, kind, devoted, passionate, heartfelt, and sexy as hell; sometimes I think I fall short of what he deserves, but I am so, so grateful that I'm the one he loves, and I'm the one he wants to be with, and I pray that I never take that for granted.

This still isn't the love letter I wanted to write and I think that he deserves, but my tongue is mentally tied and this is the best I can do. This is the man that I want to annoy me with underwear that falls just this short of the hamper, the man I want to pester every day about the food he eats and the cookies I won't allow in the house, and the man I want to grow very, very old with.

In every way that counts, in the way he would want to hear it, he totally rocks my world.

10.

Jan 12, 1995

I walked into the apartment tonight, and she was sitting there with the lights out, and she was crying. The office was a wreck today and that was my first thought, because I know she went at it with McKee and was close to leaving without having a job today, but no. She had a calendar on her lap and could barely get the words “I'm late” out. Funny, she thought I would be mad. We've talked about kids and she knows how much I want them, but she thought I would be mad.

I didn't think I could love this woman more, but fuck, I do.

She wants this baby. As much as I do. I'M GOING TO BE A FATHER. I don't know what this will do to our wedding plans. I'd like to move them up and get married as soon as we can, but I don't want to ruin anything for her. But goddamn, I'm going to be a father, and the mother of my kid is so fucking amazing I can't even explain it to myself.

You know, he'd said more than once that he wanted kids, and in a sleepy talk about family the morning of January 1st he said he really didn't want to wait more than a year before we started to try to get pregnant, but that was with a June wedding in mind, and I was assuming that he really did mean he didn't want a baby for at least two years. But then I had a horrible day at work, one that ended with me telling my boss to pull his head out of his ass and then shove it back in and inhale deeply, and with me storming out thinking I had probably just managed to get myself fired. The outburst was out of character for me, and as I got into my car I had a transient thought that I must have the worst case of PMS in history. And then it hit me. That case of PMS was a little on the late side.

I went from being mad as hell at my boss to terrified at what Ian would think and what he would say. I sat in the apartment and let myself wind up, and had just about convinced myself that he would be so upset that he would leave and not come back. I'd seen him incredibly angry a few times over the years and it wasn't something I wanted directed at me and I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it; and make no mistake, I thought that if he walked out it would be all my fault. I'd spent months wanting to be with him, but I was too stupid to consider the potential consequences.

There was no question about whether or not I would tell him, or even when, but I was bracing myself for a side of him I didn't like. I just sat there in the living room with the lights off and tried to calm down, and I did this mental rundown of how I would tell him and what I would say, but as soon as I heard his key in the door I started crying all over again, and the only thing I could do was wave the calendar at him and choke out that I was late.

I couldn't even look at him. I didn't want him to turn the light on, but he did and sat on the couch next to me, pulling the calendar out of my hands so that he could get his arms around me. I waited for him to ask me if I was sure, for him to get angry, or even just annoyed, but I felt his breath on my cheek before he pulled me closer, and he whispered “God, I love you,” before he buried his face against my neck.

I was apologizing, but he was overjoyed. I stumbled around the point that it only would have taken me an hour at my doctor's office and we could have avoided this; he countered back that I'd never seen him reaching for a condom, had I? I was naïve and he was Catholic, but somehow I thought that this was my fault.

There was never a moment that I thought we had the option to not have the baby. From the moment I realized that I was very likely pregnant, I wanted him desperately. I chalk my fear up to a very bad day capped with a wash of hormones I couldn't have controlled if I wanted to. Ian's joy was palpable, and when I was finally able to stop crying and look at him, he was grinning.

It took an hour before he asked if I was sure and if I had taken a test; I felt like a complete moron, getting worked up over something I might be very wrong about, especially after seeing how excited he was. And then I felt terrible. No matter which way it was going to go, I realized that I should have gotten the truth before dumping it on him.

He jumped up and said he would be back in half an hour with dinner and a pregnancy test, and I went back to being completely afraid.

I can't even begin to describe his disappointment when he got home, ripped the box open, and discovered that I would have to wait until morning to use it. I think he was awake all night, and by 5:30 couldn't stand it anymore. He woke me up (gently) and was almost upset that I wouldn't let him into the bathroom with me, and I thought he was going to start pinging off the walls while we waited for the result.

Before then, I'd seen him wrestle with emotion, doing the typical guy thing of choking it back and acting like everything rolled right off of him, but when I checked the test and told him it was positive, his eyes filled and he didn't even try to hold it back. It was the first time I saw him cry, and though it wasn't the last, even then I thought it was very telling that he was so overwhelmed with love for a child we hadn't even known about 24 hours earlier that he couldn't hold it back.

9.

December 2, 1994

If I don't ask her soon, I think I'll explode.

I was starting to think the same thing.

Jan 1, 1995

A year ago. Holy shit, it was a year ago that I didn't want to go to the NYE party but forced myself because of protocol, and what if I hadn't?

Ten seconds before midnight I asked her to marry me. I caught her by surprise, but thank God she said yes.

She wants to marry me. How fucking lucky am I?

I've asked myself a hundred times since then, what if he hadn't decided to suck it up and go to that New Year's Eve party? He wasn't in the mood for it, and under the circumstances even McKee, the boss with his head wedged so far his ass he could see out his own nostrils, would have understood. And what if he had been just a little more polite and backed up a step when I said I needed to go inside and find the guy I had gone to the party with?

I wasn't expecting him to propose that night; I could feel he was leading up to it, but I had expected, that like everything else with him, he would take his time getting there. I was all right with that; whether he realized it before that night or not, I had no intention of letting him get away.

We both remembered that I had been far apart from my date the year before and we made sure that as midnight approached we were right there together, and all I was thinking was that he had been right the year before; the person you kiss at midnight as a new year rolls in should be the person you would like to end the year with. When everyone started navigating toward the people they wanted to kiss at midnight, and the countdown was getting ready to start, I looked at him and the expression on his face changed from “Hey, this is way better than last year” to sudden longing. And yet I still didn't get it, and it didn't register with me that he was holding out a ring to me. Right as the countdown from ten began, he told me he loved me more than anything, and all he wanted in life now was me. And he asked me to marry him just in time for me to get “You know it's yes” out before it was midnight.

That was the first and last night I spent at his apartment. I'd been there several times, but he lived in a tiny studio with a mattress tossed onto the floor, and he had a small table lamp on the floor, his computer, and nothing else. He'd asked me a dozen times to help him buy furniture and pick out things like cookware and dinnerware, but I could never bring myself to do it. The truth is that I didn't want to help him furnish an apartment I hoped he wouldn't be living in very long.

We'd had plans for after the office party, a late dinner/early breakfast with Dack and his girlfriend, and Ian made a reservation at a hotel downtown, but I hadn't known that he was going to propose and he hadn't realized that all he would want after hearing “yes” was to be alone with me. His apartment was closest, so that's where we went. It really had nothing to do with sex, but with just being able to hold onto each other and to talk about what we wanted. He thought that I had probably formed an idea in my head when I was a little girl about what kind of wedding I wanted someday; he couldn't have known that I'd never given it any thought because that wasn't what I had grown up with. All the same, he was already talking about what and when. The same man who had moved in slow motion for months was ready to make wedding plans on the spot.

We'd been engaged for all of six hours when we decided to get married in June, just a couple of weeks before my 25th birthday.

8.

October 14, 1994

I don't know if she wants to spend the rest of her life with me, but I'm positive that she's in it for the next few years, at least. She loves me, and I can't ask for more than that at this point. I know for sure where I want to end up with her, I don't think I've ever been more sure about anything, but I'm not ready to propose, mostly because I'm not 100% sure what the answer will be. It was tempting as hell to tell her that I'm not that kind of boy and we should wait for marriage, but one, I was afraid she might take me seriously and really be hurt, and two, she has goddamned long and sharp fingernails and isn't afraid to use them.

I didn't leave this time. I couldn't. I've gotten through every reason I was waiting for, and I didn't think she would have any regrets. And God knows why but she loves me and wanted it to be me. And honestly, I wanted it to be me, too.

I don't know how he could have doubted what my answer would have been, but I wasn't expecting a proposal; I had gotten used to the time he took with everything, and I learned to appreciate it. That's not to say he didn't frustrate the hell out of me because he did. I think he took a borderline perverse delight in kissing me until my knees nearly buckled, and then telling me he had to go back to his own apartment. It hadn't been the soul crunching hurt that it had been before I drunk dialed him right onto my balcony, but I was frequently annoyed with how willing he was to wait. And I wondered most of all exactly what he was waiting for; I loved him, deeply, and he knew that. He loved me, there was no question about it. We had talked about the things we wanted in life and had both hinted that we saw ourselves together a dozen years down the road. He wasn't that guy but by then he should have been sure of how wholly he owned my heart and how deeply I wanted to get into our relationship.

He would have waited for years if I had needed him to. It finally occurred to me that I was so caught up in what I wanted that I didn't think carefully about what he needed. In a lightning bolt thought, I realized he needed me to ask him to not go home, and to say it before he was already halfway out the door. He was doing a very good job at guessing the things I needed, but that was one thing he wasn't going to risk getting wrong. He needed to be sure that if six months from then the relationship exploded in our faces I wouldn't regret being with him, and the only way he was going to be that sure was if I'd made up my mind before he had set one foot into my apartment, before he was tormenting me with a goodnight kiss perfectly intended to make me want more.

Before he had a chance to look at his watch or glance at the door, I asked him to stay; he never said yes or no, but he was still there the next morning, and already complaining that I was way too young for him.

7.

April 19, 1994

Charlie and I had lunch today and I realized something; we're talking about life as if we both expect to be together a couple of years from now. We're making plans. Before I had to get back to work I asked if she thought she would ever want to see Ireland or Brazil or even Arkansas with me and she does, but when she kissed me goodbye she asked, kind of kidding, at least I think she was kidding, if she was going to die a virgin. All I could tell her was to not get hit by a bus on the way home.

I was only kidding. We had relaxed enough with each other (all right, I relaxed); he wasn't holding back because he wasn't sure about being in a relationship with me or because there was something wrong with me, and he made it clear he wanted to know me, not just in a biblical sense yet, that we were talking about everything, from the real, painful reasons I hadn't dated in high school to the guys I had dated half-heartedly after that. He was open to talking about his marriage and divorce and what he thought went wrong, and his insight and ability to forgive was incredible and touching. We were rapidly discovering so much about each other, including the fact that we both wanted kids and wanted a traditional kind of family life, though we skirted around saying we wanted it with each other. I think the only thing that held him back from that was that I wasn't Catholic and he wasn't sure how that could play out because he knew he wanted to raise his kids in his religion, but we were talking about things we wanted to do together, like trips to Ireland. He wanted me to try out Tae Kwon Do and I convinced him to take a dance class with me. Because God, that man could dance, and I wanted to be able to not just keep up with him, but give him half the thrill on the dance floor he gave me.

We were also stepping beyond typical dating and spent a lot of time just hanging out together. It wasn't unusual for him to just show up after work and cook dinner for the both of us, or to come over and do paperwork while I read or watched TV. He didn't feel pressed to entertain me, he cleaned up after himself, and I was quite happy to have him hanging around, even though he pointedly went back to his own apartment every night.

We'd become best friends.

I could tease him about not being willing to sleep with me, though if I had realized how long it was going to take him to understand that I was looking at our future as something incredibly long term, I might have issued an ultimatum.

6.

April 8, 1994

Hey, I'm on a roll today. I refused an assignment to Rwanda today citing conflict of interest because the co-agent assigned is doing my ex-wife, but the ball's honest truth is that I just didn't want to leave Charlie for a month. It will probably mean my exile to the shit list and I'll get the first lame thing to come along, but I don't care.

Tonight I told her I loved her, and damned if she didn't say it back. But I pissed her off later when I still wouldn't have sex with her, much less stay the night. I'm probably an idiot. Hell, not even probably.

He killed his career that day, and I didn't realize it. If I had, I would have told him to take the assignment, because I would still be there when he got back. He knew it would mean more than exile to the assignment dregs; it would mean being taken off the roster that would advance him and put him into the pool of those who just didn't get the sensitive jobs, and would eventually land him behind a desk, but he did it anyway. I naively assumed it meant he would just have to wait for another good assignment. If I had understood, I would have realized then how much he already loved me, and I wouldn't have been aching to hear it.

I also naively thought that when he did say it, and when we both knew how each other felt, that ache would diminish, but it only got worse, and so did he. When we went back to my apartment that evening, I just thought he would stay; he'd told me he loved me and was obvious that he meant it. I told him I loved him, too, and I was sure that it didn't sound like I was saying it just to say it back. We'd had an incredible evening together; he'd been goofy and charming, telling me he was taking me to this 5 star restaurant (that he knew I would not want to go to; our first date had been someplace outrageously expensive and pretentious, and we left after appetizers because I was so uncomfortable there) and then dancing; he drove to Chuck E. Cheese first. He'd orchestrated getting me to dress for fine dining; instead, we played Skee Ball for an hour before heading for Red Lobster. We ended up at a club near my apartment, and danced for at least two hours. When he said he loved me, I nearly melted onto the floor, and I just assumed that when he took me home, he would stay.

I was more hurt than ticked off when he went back to his own apartment, and before he was even to the parking lot I was on the phone crying to my best friend. How could he possibly say he loves me, but not want to be with me? She laughed, amused with how dense I really was, and told me I was asking the wrong person.

And she was right. If I wanted to be with him, I had to be able to talk to him about it, so I did the only thing I could think of. I drank half a bottle of wine and drunk dialed him at two in the morning. I don't think I even let him get two words in, he just listened to my crying, whiny, tipsy questions, and when I finally stopped to catch my breath, he just sighed I'll be there in five minutes.

He wound up spending the night, but not like I'd hoped. He pulled me out onto the balcony, as far from my bedroom door as he could get, and held me until I wasn't such a sobbing mess, and then he started to explain. He wasn't that guy and never would be; all those women I forced him to go out with, they all knew what he was up to and he did nothing more than kiss a few of them on the cheek, and that was out of gratitude that they were willing to help him get even a slim shot with me. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had sex and wanted to be with me more than I could even realize, but...he wasn't that guy. He thought that if I had waited that long (I was 23, pushing 24) then I waited for a reason and he wasn't going to take that away from me if it wasn't one hundred per cent right.

When I tried to counter with “I thought you said you loved me,” he was as gentle as I could have hoped for when he said that was exactly why he would wait. He loved me, and when he was completely sure that I was truly ready and not just slightly horny and very curious, he'd hold nothing back.

He may not have known, but by the time morning rolled around and he was still there with me, on the sofa with his arms wrapped around me, I knew I wanted to marry him.

5.

March 26, 1994

It's two in the morning and I am alone. I didn't have to be; and when I left this shithole tonight I was about 90% sure I wouldn't be, but the closer we got the more I had the feeling that Charlie's never been with anyone before. I know what she wants and she's not alone in that, but damn. I can't do that to her yet. I know where I want this to go, but until I'm sure that's where she wants us to end up—fuck. I hope to hell I didn't hurt her feelings when I said I had to leave before I did something she'd regret later. She looked like she was hurt and I did a piss ass job of explaining why I was leaving, but it was either leave when I did or do something she might wish she hadn't six months from now.

He did a horrible job of explaining why he wouldn't stay. It also wasn't even an explanation so much as it was a sputtering about what I would regret and how he didn't think it was appropriate for him to just assume anything. I remember that night not just because he walked out when I really didn't want him to, but because I had honestly thought that the words I love you were right on the tip of his tongue and he was leaving to avoid spitting them out.

I was more confused than hurt, but to be fair I didn't have the nerve to say anything that would make him stay, and I had no idea that he'd guessed I had very limited—nonexistent, really—experience with men. He was shaking up nearly every assumption I had about men in general; he was gentle and considerate, he wasn't pushing for more than I wanted—just the opposite—but instead of appreciating it I was taking it personally. He was a man for god's sake, so why wasn't he trying to get me into bed?

4.

March 18, 1994

Son of a bitch, I'm in love with this woman. I haven't said it, but she has to know.

I think by this point, I was just waiting to hear it, but was also vacillating with does-he-or-doesn't he. I didn't have the nerve to say it first, and I agonized over the idea that we'd only been actually dating for a little over a month, because it seemed far too soon to feel that much. Sometimes I felt like I was fifteen again, all that internal he likes me! squealing, combined with all that adolescent uncertainty of knowing how much.

The way he danced with me made me think he liked me more than just a little, and the way he kissed me made me pray he was falling hard, but then the way he backed off just left me confused. But I knew I loved him, but he was so frustrating I just wasn't 100% sure what he was thinking.

Ian had boundaries; I didn't realize it at the time and he wasn't pointing them out, but they were big enough I tripped over them so many times. I know I had my own; I held men at arms' length for the most part and worked hard at not getting in too deep with anyone. When I was a teenager it wasn't by choice; the boys in my neighborhood and the ones who actually bothered to show up at school were terrified of my father (and with good reason.) I knew they were headed nowhere and wasn't exactly disappointed that no one was beating down my door to ask me out, but it left me hesitant and unsure when I was on my own and starting to realize that not all men were like that, and there were a few that could hold their own with my dad.

When I met Ian I had probably been out with a grand total of four different guys, and it was never anything that would go beyond being just friends. After I met him, and especially after I had spoken with him a few dozen times, something clicked in my head. I still dated, but where I held them at arms' length before, I was practically shoving them away.

I kept telling myself it was just that I wasn't going to settle, and whoever got past that kiss goodnight was going to have to be incredibly special. I didn't realize I was comparing them all to someone I couldn't have. It's not even that I didn't have feelings for anyone else; I did. I was deeply in like a couple of different times, but it never got past that, and for whatever I had brewing inside me, it didn't matter.

Ian was different from the start; aside from the effort he went through just to get me to go out with him, he was just a bit different from the guys I'd dated that I'd actually cared for. I never felt like the was working overtime to impress me; he was who he was and I either had to like that or not, but he was also considerate and thoughtful. He wasn't thrilled to find out I had a cat, but the second time he came to my apartment he brought her treats and catnip toys, and noting how much she loved to jump and climb, he built her a series of staggered shelves on one wall that she could climb up and down to her heart's content.

He listened intently, even to the things I didn't say; when I mentioned off handedly that I'd never been on skates of any kind because owning a pair in the neighborhood was an invitation to get mugged for them, he showed up at my door with inline skates dangling from his fingers—he'd known what size I needed because he peeked inside my shoes when I wasn't looking. When I was terrified on them, he held me steady, skating slowly alongside until I was fairly sure I wouldn't fall—and then he refused to let go, telling me it wouldn't be half as fun if he couldn't hold my hand.

He figured out a way to sit still for me; he doesn't enjoy movies because he has such a hard time sitting there for two hours, but he managed it for me. I never had to ask, and it was a long time before I knew just how hard that was for him.

None of what he did was designed to make me think he was anything more than he was; I'd been watching him too long to fall for that. He was by nature thoughtful and considerate, and warmly affectionate. He even pulled me out of the office one afternoon when it was pouring rain, as cold as it was, just so I could say I'd been kissed in the rain.

A month after we out together the first time, I was falling and had no intention of keeping Ian at arms' length. If anything, I wanted to pull him a little closer, but I tripped over those damned boundaries of his.

3.

Jan 19, 1994

Kathy is moving full speed ahead and we'll be done with each other sooner rather than later. We had lunch together to go over some of the specifics, like selling the house and assorted crap and will I pay off her car? I didn't know she had financed it, but that says a lot about our relationship over the last couple of years, I guess. There was a lot I didn't know. Seeing her wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. I'm not angry now, and now I know she made the right decision even if her timing was abysmal.

I told her there's someone I'm interested in, I don't know why I did because I wasn't out to hurt her; maybe because I know she wants me to be happy? She was fine with it and already knew I was trying to date because Dack told her; she guessed who without being told. How the hell did she know? She says it's never been a secret from anyone, that they all knew that sooner or later I would drift towards Charlie, but she thought it would take me a little longer. What the hell?

I didn't really know, either, but I sure as hell had not been quiet with my friends about what I thought about Ian. I think I'd mentioned one time too many how cute I thought he was, and how funny and friendly he was, and how lucky his wife had to be. I'd realized he always turned his paperwork in to me when he came back from an assignment and he flirted, but I tried not to make anything of it and I never realized everyone else had noticed.

If I had known then that his soon-to-be-ex had set him up with several women for the sole purpose of chewing through my 25-dates demand—I honestly don't know how I would have reacted, but it's one of the reasons I was willing to give her a chance later, when we visited his parents and she was right there down the street, offering us the use of her house. She loved him; she let him go but she still loved him, which I've always thought was somewhat of a testament to the kind of man he is and the respect she has for him.

In any case, I knew most of the women I worked with were well aware of what I thought about him, but no one ever told me they thought it was working both ways. It's probably a good thing they didn't, or I would have been terrified.

He created his own version of speed dating, and it took him less than a month to do it. All that gossip and tittering behind my back, I didn't realize what they were laughing about was that he was completely upfront about what he was doing. It turned into an office mission: everyone date Murf, just go to McDonald's for lunch with him or a quick walk in the park, because that constitutes a date. He had the married women in the office upset because, even though he was only going through the motions and they knew it, he refused to “date” a married woman.

There was even debate about whether I specifically told him to date 25 women, or 25 people, because there were a couple of guys who volunteered to help him chalk off a couple of slots on his list and were a little put off when it was decided that I'd probably been specific about gender.

Less than a month after he asked me out, Ian walked into the office and marched up to my desk to tell me he had held up his end of the deal; did I intend to hold up mine? He started out trying to act brash and tough, but in seconds melted a little and looked like a little boy asking please? I didn't quite believe him, though, because there was no way anyone could have dated up that kind of frenzy so quickly.

Dack swore he had, and all the little rats popped out of the woodwork to tell me they had gone out with him. When I realized what he had done, and how he and Dack had drafted so many people we worked with behind my back, just to get me to say yes...I think then I knew I would fall for him, and it would be so much more than the crush I'd been grappling with.

2.

Jan 7, 1994

I can't get that woman off my mind and I can't be in that office and look at her without thinking that I could have gone home with her on New Year's Eve. She's been watching me, too, and I'm not the only one noticing that. Dack gives me shit about it, McKee has warned me to keep my distance because it wouldn't be “professional,” and Cork has pointed out that I'm not exactly avoiding her. I don't give a damn what McKee thinks; it isn't like I was stalking one of the other agents; Charlie is strictly office, and I don't see the harm in it.

So, I asked her out. And she shot me down. I think I flinched when she said no, because I expected her to be willing to go out with me at least once, but she followed it up. She doesn't want to be my rebound. She knows I'm in the middle of getting a divorce, and she doesn't want to be the woman I soothe hurt feelings with. It wasn't a complete denial, though, if I can get 25 other women to go out with me first and I still want to see her, she'll say yes. It's kind of fucked up and I don't think I know 25 women, much less women who will go out with me, but I'll give it a shot. My gut says she's worth the effort.

I agonized through that week; everyone in the office could see us flirting and every time he walked past I couldn't stop myself from watching him. I know I had a running chant going through my head, ask me out, ask me out, ask me out, but when he did and the word “no” came out of my mouth, I was horrified. That's all I had wanted since that New Year's Eve kiss, but as soon as he asked it hit me hard that he was just getting out of a marriage, and I didn't want to be the person he got over the hurt with. If I was going to have even a small chance of getting what I wanted, I just couldn't be the first person he dated.

Everyone thought I was insane. My best friend kept telling me how stupid I was, and Dack kept pointing out that I was setting Ian up to fall for someone else, because somewhere in 25 different women was someone he would likely click with. I worried about that endlessly; for years I'd set him up as the ideal man, and when I had my chance, I sent him off to play with other women. And it killed me, especially when I stopped to consider that I had tossed out such a high number of women I wanted him to date, and I didn't know if he was going sleep his way through that long list of women or if he would settle for dinner and a movie. I had only kissed him once and hadn't gone out with him at all, and was honestly a little angry at the idea he was out there having random sex with someone that wasn't me.

My fear only got worse with the increasing behind-my-back gossip buzzing around the office. I could hear the mute laughing and knew half of it was aimed at me. I heard bits and pieces of information that went through me like a knife: Murf was in a dating frenzy and half the secretarial pool had gone out with him. He was funny, he was sweet, and god was he ever sexy.

I just knew he was going to fall for someone else, and I had no one to blame for it but myself. I had one chance at starting a relationship with him, and I blew it. I handed him over to the masses, and I doubted I'd have another chance.

I broke my own heart.

1.

You may have noticed that Ian is not afraid to lay his feelings on the table for everyone to see and to pick at; he's been like that as long as I've known him, and it occurred to me recently that I've known him for nearly twenty years now. I started working in the same office he was in when I was 18, but didn't actually meet him for another year. I know he doesn't remember exactly when we met (and that's all right) but I do. I remember it largely because I was instantly attracted and then crushed when I found out he was married. Dack introduced us while they were signing back in from an assignment, and I thought there were sparks there, but once my initial interest was snuffed I made it a point to try to not think about him as much more than that really nice guy who treated the office staff like they were equals and not servants.

I've been thinking about how we got together a lot lately. And it occurred to me that in all these years, while he's been very open and makes no apologies for “oozing mush” I haven't been as vocal. I've never written my husband a love letter, even though he deserves that a thousand times over. I also had no idea how to start, or what to say to him other than how much I love him.

He has always kept a journal; we have a closet that has boxes filled with the volumes he's written in over the years. I think he started keeping one when he was Alex's age, and other than a few gaps when he was on assignment and had no way to write, he's kept it going since then. With our anniversary approaching, his journals are what kept popping into my head.

They have never been off limits to me, but I didn't read any of them until 1997, when he had his heart attack. His doctor assured me it was a “small” heart attack and he would be fine, but he was in CCU and that by itself didn't sound promising. I was exhausted; I had a toddler and a newborn whose birth I had barely recovered from, we'd had the biggest blowout our relationship had endured (or even has still, and it was my fault) and his mother had just died.

Late at night, after I had gotten the kids to sleep and I was sitting in bed feeling his absence overwhelmingly, I reached for his journal, because I knew as I read his words I would be able to hear his voice in my head, and I read until Rachel woke up to be changed and fed, and then I kept reading. I saw our relationship through his eyes, how much he loved me before he was even able to say it; being able to see how he felt before he could even tell me made me feel both better and worse, and I was terrified he would die before I could make him understand that he wasn't alone in how deeply he cared.

He has loved me without reservation, and with a passion that even our kids can see (and make fun of) and I've wanted to find a way to let him see that he's not alone in that.

I realized recently that I still haven't done that, not the way I had intended. So I asked him if I could use some of things he'd written about; he was instantly suspicious about it and I don't think he was comfortable with it, but he said yes. I can't write him the love letter I want to, but I can take his words and tell him what I was thinking and feeling at the time.

I've edited out the extremely personal, the things I know he wants kept private, and the things I don't want to share with anyone but him. And while I intended this to be just a longish blog post, it quickly became so long that it was impossible to do that with, so on the advice from a friend, the 12 pages I ended up with will wind up being several different posts. The block quotes are from his journal, and I can't even begin to tell you what it means to me that he trusted me with his most private thoughts, and allowed me to share some of them.

Jan 1, 1994

I co-opted someone else's date last night, but I don't feel as bad about it as I probably should. Just showing up to the damned party was a victory unto itself and by 9:45 I was ready to leave, but didn't think that would go over very well with McKee. So I grabbed a bottle from the bar and headed out for the veranda, and Charlie Simms was out there. She said she was just getting some fresh air, but I saw the dipwad she was there with and was 80% sure she needed as much of a break from his headuphisassness as I needed a break from the noise of the party and the fun everyone else was having.

Let's face it, that office is filled with pretentious assholes and I'm one of them, but she's one of the bright spots in my day. When I get back from the field and hand in my reports, I look for her instead of that ditzy chick with the braces or it's-MIZZZ-Donner-not-MISS. If anyone was going to be out there punching holes in my being alone I was glad it was her. At first I just wanted to be polite, say hello and talk for a minute until she went back in, but once we started talking the time flew by and the next thing I know it's almost midnight and I'll do or say anything to keep her from going back inside to find the dipwad. And fuck if it's infidelity, but my marriage is over and I'm not getting it back and I don't even want it back, but I kissed her and she damn well kissed me back. I mean, she really kissed me. What I don't know is if it means anything to her or if I should even let my head go there. I really don't know. That kiss felt like it was something a long time coming, but I don't know how it could have been, and for all I know she's forgotten about it and is doing the dipwad.

Five minutes after he wandered outside and struck up a conversation, I wanted him to kiss me. He had no way of knowing that I'd had a crush on him for nearly four years, and that the entire time we sat out there in the bitter cold, I was trying to figure out just how to make that happen. I wasn't brave enough or forward enough to just do it on my own, but I wanted him to kiss me in the worst way. After two hours we were sitting very close to each other—he was trying to steal warmth, think, and I was just tying to get closer—but he hadn't even hinted he might be thinking of the same thing; I decided he was still too hurt from separating from his wife, and since it was near midnight it would be a good idea if I headed back inside to see if my date was even still there; that's when he set his hand on my arm and started talking a mile a minute, and suggested that the guy I was with was not the guy I wanted to be with at the start of the new year. Because the person you kiss should be someone you want to be with on the next New Year's Eve; after hearing that and then realizing he actually was going to kiss me, I was thrilled and scared at the same time. He didn't know if it meant anything to me, but I had no idea if he was serious or just a little bit drunk, and I knew if he was just a little bit drunk I would be more crushed than I was when I found out he was married.

It was only one kiss, but it was the longest and deepest kiss I'd ever had, and my feelings were just a little bit hurt when he pulled away and said we should really get back inside. Inside was the date I was ready to abandon, and other people to distract him, and honestly, even a cold as it was I wanted to stay out there and see if he really was that good a kisser or if it was just first-kiss fuzzies.

He lingered at the bar with me for a few more minutes, until “the dipwad” found me again; he was polite as hell as he said goodnight and then left, something he got very good at over the next ten months.