I got married

The first time I loved a guy, I knew I didn’t want to marry him. Although I enjoyed his social capital and relating to love songs, he was a bit too tall for my taste and boring once the dry humping ended.

Unfortunately, he didn’t quite see it that way. He eventually suggested, “We should go to college together so we can get married.” The Cinderella Story should’ve prepared me for that moment. There he was, full Chad Micheal Murray/quarterback chic, and all I could do was start planning my escape. (Lucky for me, he cheated on me so there was no need for a low-profile exit. Breakup life hack!)

In that moment, sixteen-year-old me learned something major about herself. It’s really fun to see someone semi-frequently, kiss, and part ways. But when it came to sharing things like a home, moments of grief, and silence— I wasn’t sure I could do that. I discovered a room inside me that wasn’t accepting guests. And this room felt like a liability (potentially because it still had Jonas Brothers Posters in it).

And then I met Chris. He just waltzed right into that room. In our first conversation, when I was too young to be ready to share that part of me, and when I was dating a guy that would later get a lion tattoo.

It took me a long time to accept that he easily entered because he was the person that would teach me about cats and claim that my acne is a “feature.” He was going to change my life.

And this is where, in a way— marriage doesn’t feel like a choice. From the first moment Chris and I admitted years of pent-up feelings, and maybe even the first moment we met, we were married. Marriage was never something we were progressing towards, it was something that defined what we always had. Unity. Sameness. Forever.

But for some reason, the government doesn’t have a pulse on soul unions???

So, we waited the appropriate amount of time (sound off in the comments) until Chris popped the question…

“Would you care if I get your name tattooed on me?”

I could feel the warmth in his belly and nerves which were very rare between us. I said yes and that I wanted to do the same.

A while passed between that conversation and the Google Invite I sent titled, “Propose!!”

We planned to get the tattoos in London, but figured we’d prefer our party in LA.

Chris gave me a card with a journal entry about me from 2014, then got on one knee and promised to love me when he was an old man. I also got on one knee but have no recollection of what I said.

After, we shared fish and chips and I felt a renewed sense of honesty. Finally, the thing that always existed between us was acknowledged in the truest form.

Nine months, a shared bachelor/ette party, and all of our money later, the Big Sur trees welcomed us home to acknowledge a big piece of who we are.

There were nerves, then I saw him. No more nerves. I walked down the aisle more confident than I had ever felt— not because of beauty or pageantry— but because I felt every version of Alex well with pride.

Chris. I was always talking about Chris.