I’ve been counting the days for much longer than I should have. It’s a game between us:
Only 70 days! That’s practically 60 days, which is two months, which is practically six weeks, which is practically a month so it means we’re almost there!
It makes Mr Hello laugh, when it doesn’t make him anxious.
Nostalgia for the days of being simply boyfriend and girlfriend has spontaneously, surprisingly arrived. Now we’re fiancé and fiancée, soon to be husband and wife…nothing will change, apart from everything that will.
I remember his voice the most from the night we met. It was a friend’s birthday party, and as we walked to catch the train home I remember his deep, deep voice laughing. Not having crossed paths before the end of the evening, in our celebratory haze we find ourselves giggling, dancing together down the path to the station.
I remember the word ‘frisson’ appearing in my mind that night (sometimes I narrate my life while it’s happening). “He’s nice”, I thought. “I like him”. It was months before we saw each other again, but when we did, I was happy to see his face, and to hear his voice.
Six months later, I find myself in need of somewhere new to live, and before long, Mr H becomes my friendly, genial, iPad wielding, red-wine drinking, deep-voiced landlord.
Months later still, it’s 3 am, and I’m in the backyard with hot, wet rain falling on my face. The weather is as confused as I am, but I’m sure, at least I think I’m sure, that I’m not alone in how I’m feeling.
Two years later it’s forty-two days before our wedding, and I can’t help but feel everything is as it’s meant to be.