Somehow we have arrived at this milestone, one of the many milestones where you stop and think, “How did that go by so fast?!”
We are experiencing many milestones during this season of life, turns out, like high school graduation for our eldest, prepping to move to a new town, this double-decade wedding anniversary, to name a few.
We did manage to carve an evening out to celebrate and spent some time reminiscing. While enjoying a fancy pants chocolate cheesecake—slathered with delicious pistachio ice cream—and some bonus on-the-house-because-it’s-your-anniversary raspberry sorbet, the song “(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons” played across the speakers. The song that was playing when we shared our first dance as a married couple.
As if it were planned and playing just for us.
When our lovely waitress asked how we met, Jeremy tried to claim I was not able to tell the difference between a soccer ball and volleyball when sparks first flew. Sigh. I told him to re-read the book I wrote and named after him, for goodness’ sake. So I pulled out a copy when we got home so we could read and remember together, even if we have slightly different memories of our meet-cute (I have always wanted to use that term).
It feels like life has been moving in double time lately. When an anniversary—or any special milestone—comes along, we have to take a few seconds to pause, to reflect. And so I will leave you with one of my very favorite memories, and encouragement to find the time to reflect on some of your own!
Chapter 4
September 14, 2001, Kat’s nineteenth birthday, Billings, Montana
“Happy birthday dear Ka-at! Happy birthday to you!” I finish my lovely solo serenade.
Kat blows out the single candle on the brownie delight the nice waitress here at Mackenzie River Pizza presented her with.
“Thanks, Jame,” Kat says, smiling at me before taking a large bite.
We already devoured almost all of our large Rancher pizza and order of cheesy, garlicky lodgepoles. I always thought I could eat a lot. And then I met Kat. Just another reason we are roommate-soulmates. We share the delicious giant brownie delight. Mmm, brownie delight (Homer Simpson). Then I take care of the check. How classy of me. We grab our coats and scooch out of our romantic booth. As we weave our way toward the door, the waitress hurries up behind us with our Styrofoam container of leftovers. Whew! Thank goodness she remembered. We are going to be needing those leftovers in a few hours.
As we drive home, we start and restart the song we are currently working on memorizing. I listen to the intro and begin, in a singsong talking voice, “Is she really going out with him?”
Kat replies, in her best Brooklyn accent, “Well theh she is, let’s aska.”
“Betty, is that Jimmy’s ring you’re wearing?” I demandingly query, shooting a sharp look at my driver.
Kat nods and gives a sideways glance. “Mm-hmm.”
“Gee, it must be great riding with him. Is he picking you up after school today?”
“Uh-uh.”
“By the way, where’d you meet him?”
She belts out, “I met him at the candy store!”
She continues, and I smile and giggle while waiting for my next line.
* * *
“Here you go, Kev. I’m gonna take a walk.” I hand Kevin a half-full bottle of strawberry
Boone’s Farm, and Deana Carter’s song immediately starts running through my head. I wave goodbye to Maci, Alex, Megan, Roger, and Brent. As I lazily amble toward the door, I hear Kevin and Maci adamantly insisting—again—that Megan must try a Rocky Mountain hot dog.
“Yes, they are red,” Maci says. Her raised voice carries out of the room as I smile while opening the door. I proceed to enter the deserted dorm hall.
Julio stopped by a few minutes ago to take Kat outside for some fresh air. I figure I better go check on her. I grab the handrail and make my way carefully down the one flight of stairs in this building. As I carelessly meander down the long, quiet hallway I glance from one door to another, wondering who might be awake.
I nearly reach the exit when a soccer ball rolls rapidly out of number 123. I reach down to pick it up as, simultaneously, two long tan arms reach out from the open dorm door. I reach and grab the ball first, then look up to see who is attached to those arms. A gap-toothed smile greets me, below kind green-brown eyes and a worn Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap covering wispy brown hair. “Hello, Jamie.”
“Hi, Jeremy.” I promptly respond to what has become a familiar exchange on campus.
I spin the ball confidently in my hand and nonchalantly reveal, “I used to play volleyball in high school.”
Momentarily taken aback, he pauses, then politely responds, “Uh, that’s a soccer ball.”
I raise my right eyebrow and look directly at him. “I know.”
