More Than Just Like You

Because this August will mark the 10th year of my marriage to Ty, I am full (even more than usual) of reminiscences, and feel it my duty to celebrate each 10th "anniversary". I have already held myself at bay from posting about our 10-year first time we saw each other: he came "tracting for girls" at my apartment door (Ty actually saw me first at his ward talent show - it was fate, cause I wasn't even in his ward and only "happened" to be there, dancing with my roomies in a last-second "talent" exhibition); our 10-year first date, which happened to be a hot springs date...yes, you heard me. My well-intending (and inspired) upstairs roommate told him I WOULD go after I told him no way. I would have canceled if I had known his last name and could've looked him up in student directory (I am no fan of wearing a swimsuit - especially on a first date!), but I ended up going, wearing a swimsuit, and having a fabulous time; and our 10-year first kiss. If you just read that and understood it, you will realize the restraint I have had to endure to keep from posting over each and every one of these anniversaries. Well, unfortunately, you will not be so lucky today, for I WILL post about today's anniversary.
The day was Easter Sunday, April 12th, 1998. Location: Riviera #15 doorstep, Rexburg, Idaho, USA. The time? I'm assuming it was right around curfew, cause that's when we did a lot of goodbying on my doorstep. We had just spent a couple of hours wondering together what the impending summer break would mean for us, as we lived in cities separated by long, lonely highways. Marriage was briefly discussed, but quickly dismissed, as we had only known each other for two months (not to mention my secret dismay that Ty would have the audacity to say the word marriage before he had even told me he loved me!). I knew I loved him, and it was so hard for me to keep it to myself, but I refused to say it before he said it to me, and so I waited... As we said our final goodnights, and Ty casually mentioned how he liked me, he suddenly squeezed me a little tighter and said, "I think I more than just like you." Just like that. As if that would suffice. Oh no, buddy. He was not getting off the hook like that. I somehow knew in that instant that if I let him get away with that round-about "I love you," I would never hear the real words, and so I prodded, "Well...what DO you do?" To which he finally uttered those lovely words I had been wanting to say to him for so long. In youthful ignorance (I thought everyone was raised in a family like mine where everyone told each other daily, "I love you," and the world was made of candy - yeah, I was only 18, give me a break) I didn't fully appreciate the depth of meaning behind Ty's words. It's probably good that I didn't, cause it would have scared me to death (I was just a smidge afraid of "serious" relationships). It wasn't until months later that Ty told me how he had never uttered those three words before that fateful night. Never. Not to his mom, not to his grandma, not to his pet goat, Freddy. I'm so glad I tricked him into saying it to me. I love him, too.

Now imagine an appropriately mushy picture of he and I here...you know, the kind where you're looking longingly into each other's eyes.