I could write a book on Chris and I’s relationship, and it would be a hodgepodge of biking, misadventures, Polish food, and music. I could tell you how we met via my desire to know who this genius kid on campus was who threatened my childhood prodigy title. I could tell you of late night cups of tea, emotionally vulnerable haunted houses, spooky movies, board games, and way too many fifteen-mile hikes. I could tell you about our engagement, or feverish series of family visiting and boating before my move to Kentucky. I could write pages about all of Chris’s best qualities, not least among them his curly hair. But I don’t have the space here so the following will have to suffice. The only reason I got to the cash register first was because I body checked Chris and shoved myself in front. He’d compulsively paid for most of our activities in Poland and I had to keep reminding him that we weren't dating. Maybe he was trying to hint at something. Anyways, I paid for the bikes and we set off along the Vistula (a river in Poland). I had envisioned this activity as a relaxing evening bike ride. Chris was quite disappointed that I didn’t want to race, and every time someone passed us, I could sense him tensing up. Forty minutes later we arrived at Tyniec, a Benedictine monastery, locked up our bikes—although anyone who steals bikes from a monastery has issues—and stumbled in to pray. Chris and I’s hushed discussion as to whether our phones were showing the appropriate psalms (my Polish is bad and his is not great) was interrupted by a lovely old church lady who just moved her book so we could read over her shoulder. After prayer we thanked her and she just smiled at us—perhaps she’d just wanted to stop the bickering. On the way back, the sun was setting and everything had a golden haze to it. The apple blossoms were in bloom, there were families everywhere, and some boats making their way down river. This was perhaps the first time that I realized that I might like Chris. I hope he didn’t realize I was looking at him more than the picturesque background complete with sunset. We have a running joke that I smell trees instead of watching boys do impressive things and I held to it that evening by ditching my bike, running off the trail, and sticking my head in an apple blossom tree. The next day we achieved a dream of all Catholic nerds and made it to the Shrine of Divine Mercy on Divine Mercy Sunday. To say it was crowded would be an understatement. While praying in the shrine I had a sudden feeling to look over at Chris and had the wild thought—this is the man I’m supposed to be with. Unfortunately, or fortunately, that thought didn’t leave me and I spent the next two months in Africa day dreaming about him, pretending he was my husband (to ward off unwanted proposals), and asking advice of others. While eating dinner with a couple from California, who were also volunteering in Zambia, I threw out there, “I just want to be asked on a date.” The man, Rick, turned to me and went, “Umm, isn’t that what that kid was doing?” In my sojourn in Africa I also learned how upfront people could be and how in some ways it was very refreshing, so when I got state side I got in my car, asked his sister for advice, tracked the man down, and confessed my feelings in front of the Helena Cathedral. If you couldn’t tell my life is a bit of a chaotic mess but I think that’s perhaps why I need Chris to help organize me. And perhaps my spontaneity in a way is good for him too—or at least when you see him tell him that.