Put Another One in the Books

We’ve been married 17 years.

I wish I had a memory to share for each year but they all kind of blur into this long reality that is: I’ve been with Charlie longer than I’ve been without him.

We met when I was 19. So now, at 41, I’ve been with him longer than I was ever without him. The majority of my social circle doesn’t know me before Charlie and those who do barely remember me when he wasn’t reflecting me.

He’s like a mirror. He shows me the very best of myself and, when necessary, the rough edges and dirty parts, too. He expects more of me and because he does, I expect more of myself.

Those are some sweet $200 sunglasses, folks.

When I describe him to people who don’t know him, I say he’s the coolest guy I know. I say whenever I’m doing anything I wish he was there participating and that when he’s not, I can’t wait to tell him about it.

I remember a few things about the start: the a/c was broken in the church and it was late July in Upstate South Carolina and those out of state visitors were stunned by how crazy hot it was.

We moved to Charlotte that summer and were out of work, but we only stayed three days on our honeymoon at Myrtle Beach because we couldn’t afford to stay any longer. The hotel was beachfront, our room was oceanfront, but we had to check the remote control out at the front desk. We carried the cooler upstairs and watched the end of the NASCAR race while drinking beer. We didn’t have medical insurance. We waited tables.

I remember a few things about the middle: we moved to Easley because our best friend Michael asked us to. We loved that little starter house. We bought whatever meat was on sale and then flipped open How to Cook Everything to figure out what to do with it. 

We hit happy hour two or three times a week even after Hollie was born, carrying her with us to sports bars and pool halls and patios.

That's one SERIOUS hangover.

I remember a lot of the latest: we share pride in Hollie over some of the same things (man, that kid is cool) and some different things, those things that remind us of ourselves and each other. We enjoy Sundays, our neighbors, and the country club. We worry about politics and bills and where our careers are headed.

We spend time together on the golf course, listening to live music, and in restaurants. There have always been restaurants. And we get frustrated and we get sad and we get excited and we get hopeful. 

We’re teammates. Above all. We win together and we lose together.

We’ve been in this thing together 17 years. And there’s no one I’d rather have in this boat with me. 

I love you, Charlie. Here’s to 17 more.

We Got Lucky

It’s popular now to say “I married my best friend.”

The sage advice from old married couples, the recommendations of people who have experienced divorce, the ambition of young lovers is always “marry your best friend.”

Follow that advice, and you can make some early assumptions that preclude all the rest:

1. This person genuinely likes you and wants to be around you.
2. This person is willing to be vulnerable and trust you with their vulnerability.
3. You can be vulnerable and they can be trusted with yours.
4. You can cheat on the golf course and they'll still love you.

Best friendness does not, however, make you lucky.

Last week I had some skin cancer removed from my forehead. It was benign, basal cell carcinoma, the result of a childhood spent on the pool deck. The effect, though, was to completely deflate me. Just holding the mirror up to my face with that open, gaping wound, was enough to terrify me.

Bandaged up and healing, medicated and muddling through, I put on a brave face for days. Admittedly there was some binge watching and frozen vegetable face packs but mostly I took it like a champ.

Then Saturday night we all crawled into Hollie’s bed to snuggle like we do sometimes and she raised her head to nuzzle my chin and caught my bandage with a head butt. The pain was excruciating. I made a quiet escape and staggered down the stairs, tears pouring down my face. When Charlie joined me, the vulnerability between us swelled in the room.

Me for my open expression of pain and him for his stunned helplessness.

In fifteen years, we’ve only rarely been in similar circumstances. Our vulnerability usually looks like this:

Partner 1: Oh shit.

Partner 2: What are we going to do?

Partner 1: We'll figure this out.

We’ve been lucky. Really, really lucky. 

So far we haven’t had the kind of medical issue that makes us worry what life will be like without the other. We haven’t had military service to separate us for long periods of time or financial devastation to require liquidation of assets. Our kid is healthy and happy.

We’ve been lucky. So maybe it’s not so hard to survive 15 years with your best friend in pretty much ideal conditions. But marriage is hard. The people who tell you it’s not are the same assholes that say tattoos don’t hurt. Do not trust those people.

Still, when you marry your best friend the hard is different.

It’s hard to remember that this is, in fact, a marriage. As such it requires certain things to maintain it. It requires all the stuff First Corinthians tells us: patience, kindness, no pride, no boasting, no envying. It requires all the stuff financial advisors tell us: a legal will, financial goals, a vision for retirement, a savings plan.

Hard when you’re married to your best friend is remembering that there’s work to be done. It’s not all a Wednesday on the golf course. Sometimes it’s going to work on a Saturday when the other is heading out for a Clemson game.

Hard when you’re married to your best friend is getting out of the comfortable habits of pajama pants and video games and challenging yourselves and each other to try new things, meet different people, grow your relationship. Maybe go to Five Points.

Marrying your best friend does not guarantee that you can handle crises together, you can weather presidential politics together, you can objectively evaluate Fox News as the Dark Side together, or that you can parent together.

Best friendness does not provide immunity from the shit life throws at you like a monkey in a cage. But it does improve your odds.

Thanks for 15 of the luckiest years on record, Charlie Whitener. Here’s to 15 more. 

To my best friend on her wedding day

The speech I would have given if I hadn't been drinking all day...

You look amazing. It’s not just the dress and the hair and the make-up. It’s also the way you wear that smile.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell if that smile is a mask and behind it is all the grief you’ve experienced this summer. Or if it’s an attempt to reassure me and everyone else that you’re “fine, really, totally, literally fine.”

But today, that smile is something else.

It’s the culmination of all the work and planning you’ve put in and the excitement of starting your life with your husband. It’s having your family and friends around. It’s the party you’re throwing.

And it’s beautiful.

I hope you’ll remember that the wedding is just the beginning of it. What happens after is marriage.

Marriage is very different from weddings.

For one thing, there’s less cake in marriage. More microwave-heated restaurant leftovers, more hastily-prepared meals over the sink, and more boxed macaroni and cheese because it was on sale. Less cake.

The Wrong Love Song

Are you the one Bruno Mars regrets?

When he sings, “I hope he buys you flowers, and holds your hand, gives you all his hours, when he has the chance,” is he wishing he hadn’t taken you for granted?

Bruno croons that he was wrong and that he knows it’s probably too late to apologize for his mistakes.

He says the loss of you haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

And the problem with that is:

We all want to be you.

We all think we are that girl. In so many break ups we just know that boy doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to regret leaving me.

Someday, like Mariah said, the one you gave away will be the only one you’re wishing for.

And then Bruno agrees: he does wish for her, for me, for you.

It doesn’t matter if you’re twelve and suffering your first rejection as I was when Mariah told me that there would be a time when that boy would be cold and lonely but I wouldn’t need his love anymore.

Or if you’re 19 and Alanis Morissette tells you he’ll feel it when you scratch your nails down someone else’s back.

Or Natalie Merchant suggests sometimes when he makes love to her he might say your name.

We all want to be the one that got away.