Those Late Night Talks.

I remember when I first met my husband.  It was January of 2008 when he "asked to be my friend" on a popular social networking site.  He looked harmless enough, and after all, it was just online.  He was one of the few people I met online that wasn't a complete creep.  When he said he wanted to just be friends, that's exactly what he meant.  I loved the way we would email each other every day--just filling one another in on our jobs, family, or a crisis that was developing in our lives.  I remember him telling me that my emails curbed his "Meredith Fix" for the day.  I would laugh, and happy that he was just listening.  We progressed to phone calls, a whopping eight months later--those long late night talks that became my fix.  Late into the night we'd be asking question after question, sometimes with long pauses in-between--contemplating between fact and fiction.  This entire time he never hit on me--not even in the slightest of manner.  And I loved it.  I craved it.  It was nice--no, it was absolutely glorious to have intellectual conversations.  Even though we both fell at different sides of the political arena and completely different sides in the religious arena, there was a respect--almost a validity of sorts--toward the other's point of view.  We could discuss without arguing; argue without belittling.  Never experienced anything like it before.

When we met for the first few times, we became fast friends--real friends.  He was, and still is, the kind of guy that everyone wants in their corner.  He's strong, passionate, intelligent--not a womanizer in any sense of the word.  Even as friends, when we'd hit the gym he'd never check out others in front of me.  When we went for coffee, he listened when I talked, offered advice when warranted, and was a friend in every sense of the word.  And the late night talks continued.

It was amazing the way our friendship quickly blossomed by all those late night talks.  I loved every moment.  It was no surprise that when he finally did ask me out, that I'd have to have a chat after our first day for us to decide whether to date or just remain friends.  I didn't want these late night talks to ever stop.  After our first date at Carmine's, we headed over to Washington Park and had an almost 3 hour conversation.  Just us, the ducks, and the stars.

And those late night talks have continued.  Last night when we lay there baring our souls to one another, it reaffirmed all the reasons I absolutely love him.  I love the way I'm able to talk about sensitive subjects without him shutting down; without him shutting me out.  I love the way he doesn't interrupt me, even when I'm taking one of my ultra long pauses because I'm trying to find the correct verbiage for how I'm feeling.  I love the way he is reflective; the way he is thoughtful; the way he looks at not only his perspective, but mine.  I remember being afraid that our late night talks would only last during the time of our friendship--during the time when we were just starting to date--during the time when we were dying to know every single thing about the other.  And while our late night talks aren't every single night, I know he'd drop whatever he was doing in an instant to have that late night talk with me.  And for that I'm ever so grateful.  He's my husband.  He's my best friend.  I love you, Kent.