Addison & Jace ::: en route

Editorial note: You shouldn’t start reading this post until you’ve read the previous three–the story of how we met, the goodbye, and the in between–for all the necessary context and background.

It’s true that mine and Addison’s story is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Fall in love as kids. Break up and stay separated for eight years. Find each other again and…get our happy ending.

A happy ending. That’s what we’ve found. We’re lucky, I think.

We’re also pretty cliche. Like most lesbians, our relationship (once I came home to Columbia) progressed quickly. We’d been together for seven months when we made our first commitment to each other. And it was a big one.

We bought a house in both our names and moved in together.

I know you’re thinking that seven months isn’t very long to be together before buying a house and moving in. But in lesbian years–where each date constitutes a year’s worth of relationship time, as compared to your average straight couple–we were actually moving slowly. The old joke–What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul.–is rooted in reality.

After fourteen months together, on December 1, 2008, I popped the question. Have I told the story of my proposal before? Possibly. But I’m telling it again because, well, it’s a piece of our history.

I had planned the proposal while Addison was out of town. She was spending Thanksgiving 2008 at a family reunion in Tennessee–without me–so I had almost a week to get everything pulled together.

First, I bought a ring with the help of my sister. It was a stressful shopping expedition, to be sure, but Allyson helped me get through it without hyperventilating over the super huge choice I had to make.

Second, I decided on the manner of the proposal–place, time, and presentation.

Third, Addison came home and ruined all my plans. 

Just kidding. Sort of. Not really.

Addison’s Thanksgiving trip had been a difficult one, and she was coming home both physically and emotionally exhausted. During my planning phase, I had decided that I would wait to propose until after she recovered a bit.

But then I saw her, and it became really hard to keep my secret because I tell her everything. Seriously, everything. If you think you told me a really important secret that I didn’t tell Addison, think again. She hears it all.

On top of my inability to keep secrets, Addison made it difficult to not propose by being so darn sweet. When I picked her up at the airport, she was so glad to be home that she jumped into my arms. She hugged me tight and relaxed for the first time in what was probably days. She needed me, and that felt good.

Despite the temptation, I kept telling myself that I would not propose the night she returned, that I would wait.

But then I didn’t.

As the night progressed, I decided to ask her a question that would help me decide whether to wait or go for it. I asked, “Addison, do you love me the most tonight because you’ve missed me? Or will you love me more tomorrow or the next day or next week?”

She replied, “I love you the most I ever have tonight because I’m so glad to be home with you.”

Sold. I went for it.

I told her that I had made something for her while she was away. She was filled with glee because I don’t do crafts, and I make nothing. I am the anti-craft.

I had made her a photo album. It included photos from when we were dating as kids and photos from our recent time together. Sprinkled in between the photos were thoughts written from me to her–the things I wanted her to know. I shared some memories, reflected on our history, expressed my feelings. The last thought offered all my love and devotion, and as she was reading it, I slyly removed the ring box from my bedside table.

As she finished looking through the album, my beautiful Addison looked up at me with a smile. Then she saw the box in my hand. And she started to freak out.

I can only assume that she was feeling a mixture of excitement and shock and delight and love. I couldn’t really read her emotions because I was too busy feeling fear and anxiety. What if she had said no?

Fortunately, she didn’t. She said “yes.”

Later, she admitted that she didn’t hear the loving, thoughtfully prepared speech I’d given her when I presented the ring. Apparently, once she saw the box, her ears stopped listening, and her head began to focus on one thing–diamonds. Luckily, my speech–the one she missed–was short since most of my sentiments had been conveyed in writing via the thoughts contained within the journal. She didn’t miss much.

But she did say yes.

I suppose that was the start of our happy ending, the one we’re still living to this day.

We’ve had bumps in the road, of course. All couples do.

Planning our wedding (the process that led us to start this blog — so I won’t go into it all here) was crazy. Dealing with the ups-and-downs associated with our extended families has, at times, been trying. Facing money problems has been sobering. Making life’s tough but necessary decisions has sometimes caused turmoil.

But we’ve handled it all. Through everything, we’ve stuck together, making mistakes together, riding out storms together, figuring out the future together, and rejoicing in victories together.

And now we’re celebrating one year of marriage, (almost) three years of commitment, ten years of love—and a future of happiness. I’d call that a happy ending.

-Jess

Editorial note: If you haven’t read the posts entitled “the story of how we met” and “the goodbye,” you really need to, or you might get really confused as you’re reading this post.

After almost a year together as star-crossed teenage lovers, Addison and I said “goodbye.”

But we should have said “see you later.” Because that’s what happened. Although we ended our relationship, we didn’t part for good.

Over the next eight years, I kept seeing Addison. In all kinds of places.

I spent my first two years of college at Erskine, and though months had passed since we’d last seen each other (we’d ended our relationship the summer after I graduated high school), she skipped school one day to drive to the campus and surprise me. We hadn’t talked in months. When she showed up, all the old feelings came back. But the hurt was still there with them. When we said goodbye that time, it would be for years.

After two years at Erskine, I transferred to USC in Columbia where she surprised me again. She arrived at my house on a Sunday night, accompanying a mutual friend to the regular weekly screening of The L Word (held at my house). This time, I was shocked out of my mind to see her. It had been so long. She had changed so much, so had I.

I spent the entire night that night talking to her. I didn’t watch the show; I didn’t entertain my guests. I talked to Addison. While we were hidden away from the crowd in my laundry room, I learned that she had become an adult. So had I.

To my surprise, the spark between us was still there. But we didn’t light it. I was in a relationship and living in Columbia. She was living the life of a sorority girl in Clemson. It felt like we were from two different worlds.

When she left that night, we promised to stay in better touch. And we did. We started to talk on a regular basis. About once a week or so, one of us would call. We’d share stories and laughter. We’d remember the old times.

The next time I was in the area (close to Clemson, that is), we made plans to grab lunch together. I was visiting Erskine for a friend’s graduation; we planned to meet in Anderson, a central location for us both.

I got up early, drove to the IHOP, and waited for Addison. When she didn’t come, I called her. She answered groggily and said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it.”

With the audacity of a good friend, not a long lost one, I said back to her, “Addison Woodrum, you better get your ass out of bed and get to the IHOP. I don’t care if you’re hung over. I drove all this way, and we will be hanging out.”

She got up. She showed up. We had a great day. We ate lunch together, and she returned to Erskine with me to attend the graduation. We were having such a wonderful time that I didn’t want it to end. But it had to. We were entering dangerous territory. We hadn’t spent this much time together since we’d broken up. We hadn’t connected like this in years. The spark was ever-present and tempting. But I was in a relationship, and despite our deep feelings, we still felt like we were living on two separate planets.

We almost kissed on that meeting. The urge shocked us both, and as a result, we stopped our weekly calls. Something had been developing between us, but we couldn’t capture it.

The next time I saw her, probably a year later, I was saying “goodbye.” Not to her. To Columbia. My girlfriend and I were moving to New Jersey to pursue graduate degrees. I saw Addison at a bar while we were having a “goodbye” party with friends.

She was living in Columbia and working at an architecture firm. She had a long-time boyfriend. She really seemed grown up, more than she ever had.

Once again, we had a close call. Remembering it now makes me smile. We were passing each other in the bathroom, her leaving the stall, me entering it. She looked up at me just as I looked down at her. We almost let the spark overtake us (imagine how strong it must have been in order for us to contemplate kissing in a bar bathroom–yuck). But we didn’t.

When I saw her next, I was an entirely different person. So was she.

We’d changed so much, we hardly knew each other. Although we had talked from time to time while separated, we hadn’t stayed close. She had no idea who I had become.

I had moved to New Jersey to pursue a graduate degree. My girlfriend and I were close to celebrating our three-year anniversary despite the rockiness and impending doom of our relationship. In leaving home and moving far away, I had discovered what my values were and what I wanted from life, and I was desperately trying to figure out exactly how to get it.

I saw her on a late summer visit to South Carolina. I was in Columbia for one night only, and I pulled together a group of friends to gather for trivia night at Wild Wings Cafe. I invited her. She came.

I don’t have many stories that begin like this, but that night, I had too much to drink. I suppose I was just trying to achieve some sense of escape. Although living in NJ had been good for me, it had also been hard. School was tough; my relationship was failing; I was far away from my family, and I was struggling to make some very important life decisions. When there’s that much going on, wine is tempting, even for someone who rarely gets carried away.

That night, despite the fact that we didn’t know each other well and weren’t close, Addison took care of me. She made sure I ate. She told the waitress to stop serving me beer until I had drunk water. She held my hand and walked me to the bathroom. She cared for me, like she knew me, like she loved me.

That night started at Wild Wing Cafe with a rousing game of trivia, and it hasn’t ended since.

I don’t know why, but that night, I decided it was time to light the ever-present spark that kept firing up between us and see what happened. I ended the relationship I was in the next day–not because of Addison but because it had been dead for some time, and Addison’s presence reminded me of what love could be. I began to pursue Addison, to see if she too had the courage to see what our spark could mean.

Within a couple of weeks, I decided to leave New Jersey and move back to Columbia. My decision was driven by two reasons. One, I knew Addison and I couldn’t thrive in a long-distance relationship, and I saw in her my future, my life. Two, I felt my time in NJ was done. I realized, during some soul-searching, that spending the next five years getting my PhD in order to teach college courses for a living was not the right path for me.

So I left school and came home to get the girl. And, finally, I got her.

It took some time. But she eventually found the courage she needed to end her relationship (one that, like mine, was plagued with a variety of problems) and give life with me a try.

It’s been almost three years since we committed ourselves to our relationship–and one year since we got married–and we haven’t looked back other than to smile at the memories.

I’ve often wished that Addison and I could have spent these eight years together, that we could have made it work from high school on. But then I remember the importance of those years apart. And I realize that the eight years that we were separated made us into the people we are. People who knew when to act on a spark.

-Jess

Perhaps you’ve read my post on how Addison and I met? If you haven’t, then you really ought to go on and read it so that this post will make more sense. If you have read it, then you know that Addison and I first met and fell in love when we were in high school.

At ages 16 and 17, we started a passionate long distance romance that lasted just under one year. It was tumultuous year for sure, and at times, we seemed destined to fail. But at other times, we were so connected, so on the same page, so right for each other.

Still, it wasn’t easy. We were too scared to come out so we hid the relationship from family and friends as long as we could. We lied; we snuck around; we hid. That’s no way to live a relationship, and this reality took its toll.

When our parents found out about our relationship, we were met with a mixture of emotions. The mothers were hurt, confused, lost. The fathers were angry, frustrated, suspicious.

There were times we felt like it was us against the world, and we bound together, holding on to one another for our future.

There were times we felt like it would be best if we gave up.

Eventually, we did. Not because we didn’t love each other. But because our love was marked, marred by too much pain. We said “goodbye.”

-Jess

Addison and I met at church camp.

That’s right, folks. Sending your kids to church camp will make them gay; let it be known. Guard your youngsters.

Side note: the above statement is a joke. Sending your kids to church camp will not make them gay. It will only make them experiment with being gay.

Kidding, again.

You laugh, but this joke is rooted in reality. One time I was telling the story of how Addison and I met, and I heard a wife whisper to her husband, “Well, we won’t be sending our kids to church camp then.”

Seriously.

Anyway, back to the good stuff.

Addison (16 at the time) and I (17 at the time) met in Aiken at a church. Specifically, at an event for the Episcopal youth of the Diocese of Upper SC. Addison’s mother, Anne, actually introduced us to one another. I was an up-and-comer in the wild world of youth leadership, expected to achieve great things, and Anne knew me because she was an adult chaperone leader person.

Addison was new around the block and totally scared uninterested in the entire concept of youth events. I, on the other hand, was totally obsessed with youth events. They helped me come into my own as a person, and I loved them. Plus, I had some of my very first crushes with a few of the fine young women I met at youth events. Of course, I didn’t know I was having crushes at the time; I just thought we were friends. And to their credit, I was just a friend to them; it was me who was having more-than-friend feelings. But I didn’t know that until later. I promise. I didn’t go trolling youth events for chicks.

So…back to the story…Anne introduced me to Addison, I think in hopes that I would help bring her into the fold. I’ve often wondered if Anne knows this, if she knows that she brought us together. Addison could have been just another girl at a youth event. But she wasn’t.

Almost immediately, Addison and I became best friends. Even though our homes were separated by two hours (with her living in Aiken and me living in Easley), she was instantly my favorite person. Every night we talked on the phone for hours, angering my father whose long distance phone bill went through the roof (sorry, Dad). We got together on the weekends, on school vacations, and on any chance we could find.

I’ve always thought that one of the reasons we became fast friends was because Addison was going through a difficult time. Her parents were getting a divorce, and her entire life was changing. She needed someone to talk to, someone to make her laugh, someone to be a constant in her then-unsettled life.

We were just friends for months before our relationship progressed into something more. The signs of the progression were small, and we explained them away. We held our hugs for longer than normal people–but that was because we didn’t see each much. We kissed each other on the check–but that was because we were affectionate people. We missed each other when we were separated–but that was because we were best friends.

We didn’t mean to deny the progression of our relationship. It’s just that when you’re young, and you’ve never had a relationship with a woman before (and neither of us had), you don’t realize what these feelings are. You don’t suddenly assume that you’re gay, especially if you don’t know other gays and lesbians.

Eventually, of course, we did cross the line into being more than friends, and there was nothing to explain away our actions or our feelings. But what happened wasn’t some grand gesture to declare our love or anything. It was simple but surprising. Addison kissed me. On the mouth. In a way that signaled to me that we were more than just friends. Once she did, we both realized we had a lot to talk about.

Side note: I want to make it very clear that Addison kissed me. As in, she made the first move. Not me. I’m telling you this because for quite some time, people assumed that I had converted recruited Addison. I suppose they thought that because Addison’s dating history is crowded with men (yuck…poor girl), and mine is full of women. Plus, well, let’s face it, I look like a lesbian; thus I must be the big bad lezzy who came on to the little straight girl.

But that’s not the case. I did not bring Addison into the scary world of lesbians; I received no toaster for recruiting her. It wasn’t me. It was my Addison, full of courage, who took the step that moved us from friends to more. I’m glad she did. More than glad.

So that’s how we met and got together. ‘Twas a whirlwind romance once we crossed the line, in part because we had been falling in love the entire time we were friends. The time we were together was..well…I suppose I should save that for another post.

Thanks for reading and walking with me down memory lane.

-Jess

On Sunday, May 30, Addison and I will celebrate our one year wedding anniversary. One year. Un anno. Ein Jahr. один год.

Wow. It’s totally surreal. I can’t believe we’ve been married that long. The memories of our times together–starting when we were just stupid high school kids and lasting until now–are so fresh in my mind that it seems crazy to think that we’ve been married for one year, together for almost three, and connected in some way for over ten.

In the spirit of our anniversary, I want to share some memories of myself and my bride from over the years. So, stay tuned in to the blog posts to come. They’re going to be…well, let’s just say interesting (and by interesting, I mean that at some point I’m almost guaranteed to say something that will give Addison cause to slap me). I hope that, in reading them, you’ll laugh at us at least once for our silliness and smile at us at least once for our love.

-Jess