Brett and I would have never met. OK, maybe we would have met; I guess it was only a matter of time before we bumped in to each other at a Buckner’s karaoke, or outside at Molly’s or Lodo’s for the jazz band on Thursdays... these were all major parts of the 2012 liberal arts hipster starter pack. Natalee was my ride home from Buckner’s where I had been that night and she insisted that we stop by this house party for her friend's birthday. I reluctantly agreed because I had no other option. Long before the time or Uber and Lyft – although we did hop the River Campus shuttle to get downtown many times, but not tonight. SO we arrive at this house party and there was a guy wearing a white button down shirt. Fancy. Before I know it, I am talking to this guy in the white button down shirt and he was really nice. We talked about music – our love for the Cranberries and how both of our Dad’s would play 80's music loudly on Saturday mornings. Morning came, as Brett and I had been talking all night, and I was between a rock and a hard place now with getting home. Brett offered to drive me home, and I let him. We later figured out that Drive by the Cars is our story – both literally and figuratively. What’s funny – I KNEW IT. I felt it then, and I feel it now. Brett’s my best friend. He is who I want to hang out with - plain and simple. Nine years later, and here we are. I am confident in us. I love little 23 year old Brett and 20 year old Maddi – but they have grown up now, together. We have weathered our twenties together: jobs, no jobs, grad school, entrepreneurship, good times, bad times, no money, some money, tears, laughs, meals, trips, family, weeks without AC, raccoons, you name it. I could not have done it without BC. We have created a home together – a life. A really full life. In 2015 – Brett said to me “promise me, we will never be boring”. So far so good, I would say.

Right now, I’m watching Maddi sit in our bed watching Tik Toks while our dog dreams in front of the mantel, her feet twitching as if recalling the last traumatic experience of walking around the neighborhood. The source of her fears? Likely the sewer, or the feeling of cold mud on her paws. Most mornings when I look at Maddi, she’s still sleeping. So it’s largely the back of her voluptuous head of hair, fluffed delicately from a night of strong, slightly stirring sleep. I roll over, brew us coffee, tend to the emotionally ruffled yet sassy dog, and settle in for the new normal of ‘hybrid work’. Then, I hear a stir. A creak and pivot of adjoining 125 year old hardwood weathered by the incessant broken environmental button of humidity, brutal cold, annual faltering A/C units, of sweltering heat. But yet, it stays strong… Well, to cut that thoughtfully crafted relationship metaphor short, for the most part. Just don’t walk too heavy in the back bedroom. Who do I see coming? It’s Maddi. We hug every morning in this weird nexus of our home where the bathroom, back room, and kitchen meet. It’s sort of a meeting spot of our minds, and physical needs. See, she needs to use the restroom, but I’m also in her visual line of sight. We hug, give a smooch, and I meander for my second cup of coffee. We diss our half-asleep dog and debate the finer points of putting creamer in coffee. These are some of my most treasured moments with Maddi. The beginning of a new day. Freshly emerged from slumber, both of our eyes half open like newborn raccoons. New things to discover, laugh about, improvised songs to make up. Memories to reminisce. Her sleepy demeanor as she stumbles into the bathroom for a tooth brush, our soft embrace. It reminds me that no matter the roadblocks we will face, we will always come together, love each other, and be devoted to one another. I cannot wait for a lifetime of these mornings. A lifetime of accidentally falling asleep on the couch, stumbling in later. Waking up to her bright eyes, the sunlight bouncing around the room magically in a way that her eyes have just the perfect mix of sleepy glisten and reflections of dappled colors from knickknacks in the apartment. Fried eggs, pots of chili, pork steaks and take-out. White Claws, High Lifes, assertive red wines, and delicate champagnes. There's so much more for us to experience, commiserate, celebrate, ruminate. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with my true love.