Sometimes it's just a perfect fit

He says that he liked her from the first time he saw her in that green top (it was a dress). He says that she came up with a crafty plan to pass him her number. She swears she just wanted to offer herself as tribute for intramural dodgeball. She always said that she just wanted a dude to buy her a sandwich. On their first date, he takes her (unprompted) to a sandwich shop. There are misunderstandings about the value of buying her cheap cider and the plot of Gone Girl, but they're pretty much official by Halloween. There is the discovery that hockey is the center of his world and she's never seen a game. There is the discovery that Friday Night Lights is one of her favorite shows and he's never seen an episode of it (or Grey's Anatomy. Or Firefly. Or Misfits). His mom still lives in the house he grew up in. She's had so many family homes she's forgotten half of them. He's such a Northeast guy that he still secretly considers New York "down south". Her love of sweaters doesn't stop her from getting aggravated about being more than an hour from the beach. This is before we even get to the whole black and white thing. By now you know that none of that ends up mattering very much. You know about the long-distance part, with its trips up and down I-95, and the three apartments it took to get one of their own, a place where she doesn't like the light but he teaches her to paint and make it theirs anyway. You know about the first holidays with each other's families, and that she answered his heartfelt proposal on a beach on the other side of the Atlantic with "yup, yes, I'm saying yes." You know the date(s) and the place where they'll stumble through vows and accidentally drop cake on the dress and dance terribly to songs you've detested since middle school. And you know they'll want you there. So book your ticket. Buy that dress. Plan a nice long weekend in this swampy little town. It won't be the same for them without you.