Love Story Part FINAL: Happily ever after!

At the National Portrait Gallery the day he asked me to be his girlfriend

Three days after the dinner at my house when Frank asked me to be his date for the Barrister’s Ball, we found ourselves back at Conservatism on Tap. You might remember that’s where we first met. The setting was all too perfect.

Excited as I was for the upcoming ball, I was beyond ready to get out of this relationship limbo we’d been in since our first date. We’d been spending a lot of time together, but in the three weeks since the date, Frank hadn’t defined the relationship one way or another. It was killing me.

The night before Conservatism on Tap, I had texted Frank a line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail—one of his favorite movies. “Wow,” he texted back, “you really are the perfect woman.” I knew that guys don’t just throw around “the perfect woman” willy-nilly. He had to be pretty dead gone on me. So in typical Tess fashion, emboldened by the certainty that he was into me, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

After the lecture and discussion, Frank and I began walking back to the metro with a group of our friends. As we walked, I texted him, “Want to split off and go for a wander?” "Sure," he said. So when we got to the metro stop, we left our friends and kept walking on our own.

We wandered through the streets and finally reached the pretty garden outside the White House, where I sometimes went to eat lunch. We sat on a bench and Frank put his arm around me. We sat there talking in the quiet evening until we saw the lights go off in the White House. (In retrospect, the fact that it was warm enough to sit outside on January 26 might be the most amazing part of this story.)

“So… about us,” Frank finally said. “I was thinking we could just go on a few more dates and see where this goes.”

I was a bit nettled. I had been hoping things would move more into the boyfriend-girlfriend neighborhood.

But then I figured that if he wanted to be casual and noncommittal, two could play at that game.

“Oh ok!” I said brightly. “So you mean we’ll be non-exclusive? Like, we can keep dating other people?”

“What? Are you dating other people? Is there someone else you’re seeing right now?”

“Maybe! I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Let’s head home.”

That was pretty much the exact opposite of what Frank meant, and he did not like this new turn of events at all.

“Wait! I mean… we can be exclusive, if you want,” he said.

“Nope.” I was now thoroughly into the idea of being non-exclusive and regretted pushing him into this conversation. I figured there was that guy from McFadden’s, and earlier that day I’d seen I had a voicemail from another guy I’d recently met. If Frank didn’t want to be exclusive, it only seemed smart to be open to other options. I still had a few nagging doubts that he might be a bit of a player.

Poor Frank. He had no idea what he was getting himself into with that innocent remark about “seeing where things go.” He really didn’t feel comfortable with this turn of events—in fact he told me later on that he felt sick to his stomach over it. But I thought I was doing the right thing by hiding my interest. I thought I was just matching his own non-commitment and caution.

So we went home, both trying to get used to the idea of being non-exclusive. Neither of us liked it, but we both thought it was the other person’s idea.

The next day Frank invited me to get dinner with his roommate and his roommate’s girlfriend—a double date, officially Date #2. We had a great time and the adorable girlfriend made a point of telling Frank how much she liked me.

Thus began our infamous period of “7 dates in 7 days.” Starting with the double date, we spent time together every day of the next week. We cooked dinner together, we went out for drinks, and we even went to Mass together. I guess when Frank said we would “go on a few more dates to see where this goes,” he decided to have those dates ASAP.

On Tuesday, January 31, several days after our ill-fated DTR, Frank and I went to the National Portrait Gallery together. He took me to see his favorite painting, by Childe Hassam, and standing in front of it he asked if I would be his girlfriend.

I told him I would think about it and get back to him. Yes, I actually said that. Looking back, man, what a brat! But I still hadn’t called back what’s-his-face and I figured I should have something to back up my insinuation that I was dating other people. I knew by this point that if the other guy wanted to ask me out, I would say no, but I wanted to at least return his call.

Next we went to Trader Joe’s for groceries and then back to my apartment to cook dinner together. While Frank was getting stuff together in the kitchen, I snuck into my room and called the other guy. It turned out he had called to invite me to a party that weekend. I wasn’t particularly interested in going, or in seeing him again for that matter, so I politely declined and went back out to the kitchen.

“Frank,” I said. “You know what you asked me earlier? Yes. My answer is yes. I want to be your girlfriend.”

He smiled so broadly and gave me a giant hug. We were both walking on air after that.

Later that night we were playing the question game.

“What’s been the happiest day of your life so far?” I asked.

“To be honest with you,” he said, squeezing my hand, “I might have to say today.”

From then on, we were a couple. And we were are crazy about each other. Even on the days when we’re fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes, I know there’s no one else in the world I’d rather be with.

The last big obstacle once we started dating was our difference in religion. I loved Frank and respected him, but my religious beliefs are so important to me that I had a hard time with the thought of marrying someone who didn’t share them. When we started dating, I thought long and hard about whether I would be ok with marrying him if he never converted. I decided that it would be difficult but worth it, and I made a great effort to never bring up the topic of religion around him unless he asked. I had no idea that, at the same time, Frank was trying to decide whether to become Catholic. His conversion story is a pretty awesome one, and it began long before we ever met, so I won’t get into it now. Suffice it to say that on our first Valentine’s Day, a few weeks after we started dating, Frank gave me the best gift ever and told me he had decided to become Catholic. From then on, I think we both knew this relationship was a game-changer.

We had only been together for a few weeks when Frank started dropping not-so-subtle hints about getting married. I said we shouldn’t start talking about marriage until we’d been together for at least six months. I finally had to institute the “marriage jar”—he had to put 25 cents in a jar every time he brought up marriage. Before long the jar had to be abandoned because I was guilty of talking about marriage almost as much as he was. Meanwhile he interpreted my six-month rule as “we can’t get engaged until we’ve been together for six months,” so he proposed two days after our six-month anniversary. It was faster than I expected, but I was very happy to say yes. You can read all about that here.

And we lived happily ever after, with plenty of knitting and other grandmotherly activities. ;)

Thanks for sticking with this MUCH too long and detailed and drawn-out story all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed it!

Love Story Part 10: The waiting game... until Lillian intervenes

The next few weeks after our first date are best described as me being constantly exasperated with Frank—why? Because he didn’t ask me out again. He didn’t even call me the next day like I thought guys were supposed to do. Instead I didn’t hear a peep from him about whether he enjoyed the night, whether he wanted to go out again, or anything like that. Since I didn’t want to be the one to initiate a DTR talk, I complained a ton about his lack of follow-up to all my girl friends, while not saying a word to him. Very mature, I know.

I did try to see him as much as I could. The day after our first date, an acquaintance hosted a Downton Abbey watch party, and knowing about Frank’s love for that show I invited him to come. He ended up being the only guy in a crowd of 8 or 10 girls, and he had a fine time. Afterward I joked that I’d just brought him along “for arm candy” and we walked back to my apartment arm-in-arm.

A few days later I went to a late-night happy hour at DC’s popular 20-something hang-out McFadden’s. I met some really nice guys there, friends of my friends, and one cute guy graciously gave me a ride home. Since Frank didn’t seem to be making any moves, I thought I might as well be open to dating other guys. Why not? There were plenty of nice guys out there and no sense in waiting around for someone who wasn’t taking action.

In Frank’s defense, I made it pretty darn hard for him to schedule another date. My friend Alex came to visit me the weekend after our first date, and then my sister Lillian and friend Maggie came to visit the weekend after that. I made sure all these ladies got to meet Frank, since they’d heard so much about him by then, but it was in informal group settings planned by me.

Lillian and Maggie were in town for the March for Life, and we took full advantage of their nearly week-long visit to plan a bunch of fun outings. Friday night we decided to go to some club in downtown DC, and I rounded up Frank and some of his guy friends to join us. You might remember me mentioning this earlier in the story, but at the time, I had to work very late on Friday nights formatting the magazine I worked for at the time. We picked a club close to my office, and I resigned myself to bouncing back and forth between work and the club.

I joined my friends for the first part of the night, but around 9:30 pm, I had to go back to the office. Frank offered to walk me back. I felt bad making him do that, but he insisted, so I showed up at work with him in tow. He patiently sat behind me in my cubicle while I tried to get my work done as fast as possible.

“I’m so sorry this is taking so long,” I kept saying, but he just laughed and cracked jokes. “The back of your head is redikulus,” he teased as I sat glued to the computer. I thought he was so funny, and such a nice guy for keeping me company.

The work was taking longer than I expected, so I walked to the other end of the office to check on progress for some graphics I needed. The graphic designer, a sweet married Asian lady, pulled me into a whispered conversation.

“Who’s that guy with you??” she asked.

“Oh, him? He’s just a friend. We were with some friends at a bar close by so he offered to walk me over,” I explained. “We went on a date a few weeks ago but I don’t think it’s going anywhere. He doesn’t seem all that interested.”

“Are you kidding?” she said with a look of disbelief. “He left hanging out at a bar with his friends to come sit at work with you? Oh, honey. Don’t be silly. He must be really into you!”

Maybe I should be embarrassed that it took her saying that to get me to see reason, but when she said that, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. She was right. Of course he was interested.

When I finally was able to leave work, it was after midnight. Frank walked me back to the club and I pulled the classic “my hands are cold” move to get him to hold my hand. I was really excited to realize he liked me and the internal butterflies were uncontrollable.

A few days later, on Lillian and Maggie’s last night visiting me, I invited Frank and my friend Joey over to have dinner with us girls. I remember complaining the whole time before the guys got there: “If only Frank would make a move one way or the other!! I could handle it if he decided not to date me anymore, and I can handle it if he wants to keep dating, but this uncertainty is killing me!” My patience with him was reaching its limits.

After dinner, Frank caught me alone in the kitchen.

“I have this dance coming up at school next month,” he said. “It’s called the Barrister’s Ball. It’s kind of like law school prom.”

“Yeah?” My heart. It was fluttering.

“I was wondering… would you like to go with me?”

Internally: AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Externally: “Sure, sounds fun.”

As soon as I could, I dragged Lillian and Maggie into the bedroom while the guys talked outside.

“Frank asked me to this ball! He said it’s like law school prom!”

“Yay! That’s great!”

“No but this is a huge problem,” I said. “The dance isn’t until next month. How am I supposed to last another month not knowing if we’re dating or not??”

“That’s easy,” said Lillian. “Why don’t you just ask him, ‘Is this ball a date?’”

I’m pretty sure I stood there opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish. That was so … sensible. So easy. Lillian always has been the practical twin.

So that’s what I did, that very night. Joey missed the last train back to Maryland, so Frank offered to give him a ride home, and I offered to come along and keep Frank company. After we dropped Joey off and were alone in the car, I got my chance.

“Frank, I was wondering… that ball you told me about earlier… Is it a date?”

Frank tells me that his blood ran cold when I asked him that. He thought that if he said “Yes,” I wouldn’t want to go, or would give him some line about “Let’s just go as friends.”

“Yes?” he said. “I mean, yes. That’s what I was thinking. But it doesn’t have to be. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said, smiling. “A date is fine with me.”

I kept right on smiling the whole way home.

The next installment of the love story will be the last! I'm so excited to wrap this thing up. Hoping to get it done in time for our two-year anniversary on Sunday.

Love Story Part 9: At last, our first date!

This installment is dedicated to my friend JoAnna, who sent me a letter asking for the next part. That lit a fire under Frank and got him to finally edit it. Thanks, JoAnna!

I flew off to Chicago and Frank drove home to New Jersey for our Christmas breaks. Although Frank hadn’t spelled out that the play January 7 would be a date, and I kept insisting to my curious family that I “wasn’t really sure” if it was a date or not, I knew deep down that was exactly what it was. I even told one of my best friends over break that I thought Frank might be “the one.” All that before we’d even gone on one date!

I tried not to think about Frank for the first few days, which was easy since my beloved cousins and aunt were visiting from London. We had a great time taking the littles to the American Girl Place. Did you know they serve fabulous cocktails there? File that away for your next trip to Chicago with little daughters/sisters.

They also have the cutest plates of miniature food

Frank texted me every day that break. I found it odd that he never called me and even wondered if it meant he wasn’t interested. (Was there a single aspect to our relationship that I didn’t overthink?) Turns out he’s just not a big texter, or caller for that matter, and his texting me so much was a mark of quite unusual interest for him.

That vacation, in retrospect, was full of funny coincidences.

One night Lillian and I went out for dinner and drinks with an acquaintance from ISI, Matt, his friend Eliot, and my good girl friend. Matt was living in Texas at the time and I wanted him to meet my friend, who lived near him. It turns out that was one of the best dinners I ever put together, but not for the reason I intended. Just a few months later Matt and Lillian started dating, and now I’m proud to call him my brother-in-law.

Another night we went to a fancy New Year’s ball hosted by a local church and I met a nice lawyer who’d gone to UDallas. We talked for a long time and kept in touch a bit. Now Frank works at the same law firm as him and they’ve become good friends.

This isn't a coincidence, but I remembered this story while looking through old photos for this blog post, and it was too funny not to share. That break, I bought a lion hat at the Christkindl Market in downtown Chicago and wore it constantly, to the endless teasing of my family. But I had absolutely no shame and posted photos in my sweet hat to Facebook.

My sisters assured me that the hat would scare off any potential suitors, but I maintain that it's the real reason Frank fell in love with me. ;)

The morning of January 2, I flew back to DC. Frank picked me up at the airport, where I looked much too put together for someone who’d caught a 7 am flight. I seem to recall stopping in the airport bathroom to do makeup before meeting him? Anyway, I treated him to lunch at Panera as a thank you, and over lunch he asked what I planned to do that afternoon.

“I’m going to rent a Zipcar to run some errands,” I said. I was all into the Zipcars in those days. “I need to get a few things at Target, and it’s pretty far from my house.”

Frank-the-nicest immediately offered to take me to Target himself, so off we went to spend my Christmas money on an air mattress, a Crockpot, and a tea kettle, preparatory to some friends coming to visit in a few weeks.

Saturday night was our big First Date. You better believe I’d been planning my outfit all break: sheer black hose and heels with a black lacy top, shimmery shrug and curve-hugging skirt. I spent forever getting ready, doing my make-up perfectly and blow-drying my hair. Somehow I already knew that night would go down in Tess history.

There was one dilemma: my glasses. I’m just near-sighted enough to need glasses for the theater, even though I can get by without them in daily life. But at the time, I was still using an ugly pair of psychedelic blue glasses I’d had since the eighth grade. No way could I let Frank see me in those, but what if I had trouble seeing the stage? I decided to hide the glasses in my purse and make a decision later.

Our first date was perfect. Did I mention it was perfect? Frank took me to an amazing restaurant called Rosa Mexicano. I remember Frank excitedly introducing me to his favorite cocktails while I tried to act normal and hide my stomach-full-of-butterflies feeling.

We had such a great conversation over dinner. I only remember bits and pieces of it—we mostly talked about books, no surprise—but I do remember he told me that he had studied Ancient Greek in college and once translated part of Plato’s Apologia from the original Greek. I tried really hard not to swoon.

After dinner we walked down the street to the beautiful Shakespeare Theater. We were early so we browsed the cute gift shop before finding our seats. Sitting in the theater, I assessed our distance from the stage and realized that, unfortunately, my glasses would be necessary.

No worries. I was confident I could get away with hiding the ugly glasses from Frank. I waited until the curtain rose before oh-so-stealthily slipping them out of my bag. Then I made sure to take them off before the lights came on.

Unfortunately, my ploy was not so successful. During the intermission, Frank made a comment about the glasses. He had noticed!! Oh no!!! I nearly died of shame.

Frank says he thought it was “cute,” but I was horrified.* Looking back on it, though, the really embarrassing part is that I actually thought I could get away with that!

We drove back through the dark DC streets and Frank took “the long way home” so we could drive past the Capitol. It looked beautiful, its white dome shining in the night. He played some of his favorite music for me, and as I listened quietly, I knew that night was the start of something wonderful.




*Think of me next time you have an embarrassing first date story.

Love Story Part 8: Comedy of Errors

Slightly unrelated picture with my friends Laura and Joey, and my faithful wreath Max

Well friends, now you know it all. You know how we got from my hopeless crush on Frank, the seemingly perfect and unattainable, to the day when Frank was interested right back. But how we got from there to being a couple … well, that’s a whole ‘nother story.

If you want me to keep going with the first-date-to-exclusive-couple part of this tale, let me know and I’ll do my best to oblige. Long-winded and overly dramatic tales in personal blogging seem to be my forte. ;) But for now, I’ll just take you up through our first date in this section and the next.

Love Story Part 7: Frank falls in love

The night before the funeral, I was on Skype with my sister Lillian and best friend Maggie.

(I don't have any pictures from the time this blog post took place, so instead you get Lillian, me and Maggie.) 

They knew about Matt’s death and the ongoing Frank saga and they were offering moral support for the next day. I was brainstorming ways to calm my nerves on the long drive.

“Do you think I should bring my knitting?” I asked them. “Knitting always makes me feel calm—”

Lillian interrupted with a vehement “NO!”

“Are you kidding, Theresa?” she asked. “Do you want him to think you’re a grandma? You bring your knitting, and it’s game over with Frank.”

I am notoriously contrary—when someone tells me not to do something, I run to do it—and this was no exception. Lillian should have known better.

I jutted out my chin and said, “I don’t care what Frank thinks. Let him think I’m a grandma. Tomorrow has nothing to do with him, and anyway, I’m over him.”

Then to prove my point, I pulled out my phone and—in the face of Lillian’s and Maggie’s horrified protests—texted Frank, “Would you mind if I brought my knitting in the car tomorrow?”

Love Story Part 6: Learning to trust (warning: serious and long)

After I briefly met Frank’s family in Princeton, I thought the expedition had been kind of pointless, but Frank’s family did not. Their interest was piqued. For the rest of his visit they bugged Frank with questions: “Who was that girl Tess?” “Are you dating her?” “Well, are you going to date her?” They thought his “we’re just friends” claim seemed fishy.

I love Frank’s family.

The next weekend fate brought us together again. The Shamrock Series came to DC and we both went to the Notre Dame-Maryland game Nov. 12. Frank wasn't sitting near my friends and me but he came over near the end of the game to get a picture together.

In mid-November Frank was hanging out with his guy friends and the talk turned to what lady of their acquaintance they would most want to ask on a date.

To his surprise the answer was easy.

“Tess,” he said. “I would want to go out with Tess.”

Love Story Part 5: Mr. Autumn Man Strikes

During my phase of avoiding Frank

I had sworn to avoid Frank for the rest of my natural existence (or until I got over him, whichever came first). But as I set about shunning him, there was one little hitch in my plan.

Frank didn’t notice I was ignoring him.

I mean, it’s not that I wanted him to notice, exactly. But you know, it would have been nice if he thought, “Where’s Tess gotten to these days?” or maybe even, “Man, I miss Tess!” That would’ve been fine with me.

But he didn’t. Frank was smack in the middle of midterms, and then his semester quickly segued into finals. He became a bit of a hermit. He didn’t notice that I was missing from his life, because he was hardly hanging out with anyone until after finals.

Still avoiding Frank

I didn’t know this at the time, of course. I busily set to work avoiding him—dropping out of our Facebook chat group, ignoring his occasional texts, and the like.

One rare free Saturday, Frank asked my roommate and me if we wanted to join him and his friends on a hike to Harper’s Ferry. I ignored him and then put him off with excuses (to be fair, I did have a volunteer commitment that day). Finally, I just canceled outright.

I even went hiking without him

My chilly response aroused his suspicions. Frank sent me a concerned Facebook message asking if I was mad at him. “Of course not, I’m just busy!” I lied. But secretly I was impressed with the sweet and thoughtful gesture—which just made me even more resolved to avoid him. There he goes being so nice again, I thought gloomily. He really was the nicest person I'd ever met.

Avoiding him went swimmingly until early November, when my friend Meg and I decided to go to Princeton for the Love and Fidelity conference.

Meg and I had met in September. Both young journalists who were new to DC, and both covering the love, marriage, and college beats, we collaborated on several projects.

Serena came with us to the conference, since her boyfriend (now husband) Anthony is in grad school at Princeton. And my dear friend Alex came out from NYC, so we made quite the party.

Alex and I at Princeton

The conference went really well—we met amazing people (including Meg’s future colleague, Helen Alvare), enjoyed the talks, and socialized like it was our job. Being dutiful journalists, we also produced good articles for our respective publications.

But I made one crucial mistake: I posted on Facebook that I was in Princeton.

You see, Frank is from Princeton. And he happened to be home visiting his family that very same weekend. Seeing my Facebook status, he texted me asking if I wanted to get together.

Does anyone else think this is suspicious behavior from a guy who supposedly had a girlfriend? I certainly did, so I filled Serena and Meg in on the situation. They thought it wouldn’t hurt to get together for a little bit, if only out of politeness. Serena loyally volunteered to be my wing-woman for the rendezvous.

Our schedules were so packed with conference activities that I didn’t have a free moment until Sunday afternoon. Frank and his family were at the Princeton Record Exchange, and I agreed to stop by with Serena for a little bit.

While Serena understood the magnitude of the situation (at least in my head), Meg really wanted to get back to DC—she had a lot of work to do. She also reeeeeeally didn’t want to waste time on this overhyped get-together with the guy I liked but who supposedly had a girlfriend (and meeting his family too??). She was right—it did seem like a silly waste of time.

Finally she said, “I’m going to Panera. I’m going to grab coffee and some lunch, and I’ll be back in my car in ten minutes. Please meet me at the car then, and don’t be late!”

Serena and I jumped out of the car. As we hurried toward the Record Exchange, I saw Frank walking toward us.

This is one of those memories I hope to never forget. I’m not sure I can capture it for you, but I’ll try.

Frank is Mr. Autumn Man and he never looks better or happier than in the fall. That November day he looked so cute in his red beard and sweater. The afternoon light bathed everything in a soft gold, like an old-time movie. As he came toward us down the street, I thought I’d never seen a handsomer man in my life. Serena even whispered affirmingly, “He is cute!” when I muttered, “That’s him!”

Frank gave me a big hug and I introduced him to Serena. Then we went to meet his family—mom, dad, and both siblings. We awkwardly chatted with them for several minutes in the alley outside the Record Exchange—Serena remembers talking to Frank's sister about the TV show “Pan Am”—before we went back to meet Meg.

As we got in the car, I said to Serena, “Well, I guess that was kind of dumb. I’ll probably never see those people again in my life.”

Love Story Part 4: "I'll never speak to Frank again!"

Life kept chugging along and Frank and I kept Facebook chatting far more than was necessary—almost always in a group though, for the record.

The next thing I remember doing together was visiting DC’s famous Newseum on Sept. 11, 2011. Frank and I gathered a bunch of friends to visit the museum's special exhibition in honor of Sept. 11, 2001. Frank had free passes to the museum, which sealed the deal.

Outside the Newseum with Frank's friends. Also, I just noticed I'm wearing this dress in just about every Love Story photo. I must have worn it a lot that summer!

Honestly, I was afraid to go out that day. The ten-year anniversary of the tragedy just did not seem like the smartest day to hang out in large crowds near iconic DC buildings. I voiced my fears over Facebook, and I’ll never forget Frank’s response. He said hiding in our homes would be letting the terrorists win; he said, “We will not live in fear.” I was inspired by his bravery and once again found myself admiring him. Dang it, Frank, stop being so perfect! I thought.

Off we went to the Newseum and had an amazing, inspiring day looking at the Sept. 11 exhibit and the winning Pulitzer Prize photos of the last few decades. It was a serious and moving visit, not light-hearted like most museum visits are—but unexpectedly serious seems to be a theme in my developing relationship with Frank.

Some of Frank’s guy friends accompanied us and I enjoyed getting to know them. After the museum Frank led us all to his favorite Asian restaurant, the fabulous Sticky Rice in downtown DC. I secretly hoped Frank would sit by me at dinner, but I did my best to squelch that thought and be happy when I ended up next to one of his friends instead.

Frank’s friend had never met a real, live Catholic before (a common occurrence when I met Frank’s college friends) and he had a bunch of questions for me. Amusingly, he was curious about what exactly a nun is. I felt pretty confident explaining, and I launched into a short description—Bride of Christ, spiritual mother to the Church, etc. I ended by saying, “It’s a really beautiful vocation and like many Catholic girls, I would be honored if God called me to be a sister!”

Frank leaned over at that point and said with a laugh, “You’re much too attractive to become a nun, Tess.”

Ugh! What! How dare he! I was righteously indignant. I spluttered that God calls the best people, and his comment made no sense at all!

“I was just teasing,” he said, continuing to laugh.

I spluttered away in continued indignation, but secretly I was pleased. Frank thought I was attractive!

Love Story Part 3: When did I learn how to flirt?

Soon after I met Frank, I began having informal dinner parties at my new apartment. I invited just a few acquaintances at a time. As the new girl in DC, I found it a great way to strengthen budding friendships.

Hostessing at one of my parties that summer

Frank’s turn for dinner came on August 29, 2011 (as my Google calendar helpfully reminds me). The dinner took a turn for the serious when some guests began discussing marriage, love and faithfulness—heavy topics for people I barely knew! I tried to keep out of the conversation, but I couldn’t help noticing what Frank was saying—and that I agreed with every word.

I specifically remember him saying, “My parents taught me that marriage is forever. My dad said that even if you wake up one morning and don’t feel in love with the person lying next to you, you don’t leave, because of the vows you took and the commitment you made. That’s what I believe.” I was impressed. What kind of 21-year-old guy says stuff like that? I thought.

It was obvious that Frank had good moral formation; he was just a good, straight-up guy who someday wanted to be a great husband. I could see that already. Even though I wasn’t interested in him, I began to admire him. Fatal, of course, because once you start admiring a man it’s an easy jump to crushing on him.

That dinner is also notable for another key plot point. Frank brought me a generous hostess gift that night: a giant bottle of Bombay Sapphire, in honor of our shared love for gin and tonics.

Remember the Bombay Sapphire. It will be important later.

A week after the dinner party, my twin sister Lillian was coming to visit me. Hurray! I wanted to throw a party in honor of the occasion. Since most of my new DC friends had never met her, I decided to host a “Meet the Twin Party” on Friday night. Some of my new guy friends had a rooftop patio on their apartment building, so they offered it as a location for the party.

It turned out to be quite the party. A bunch of our old friends from the ISI program were living in DC now, and they turned out in full force to see Lillian. Lots of Notre Dame alumni also showed up, along with random acquaintances I’d made throughout the summer. There was plenty of beer and chips and dip and people making new friends.

I was really hoping Frank could come, since he was my “new best friend” after all. I thought of him as a close friend already and I wanted him to meet my sister. But he had to stay late at work so he texted me that he couldn’t make it.

Um, no. I would have none of that. I unleashed a series of super-persuasive borderline threatening texts, mostly saying, “You have to come. You may never get the chance to meet my twin sister again!!!”

Finally he agreed to stop by “for a little while.” When he showed up, I knew he didn’t know most of the people there, so I thought I would magnanimously take him under my wing and make introductions. But I didn’t get very far before we were in the middle of one of our heated joke-arguments, talking just to each other (and shamelessly flirting). Frank ended up staying at the party for hours, and I don’t think he talked to anyone but me.

I had to go home to do some work after that (my first job out of college required working from home until the wee hours on Friday nights … boooo. So glad that’s over). Frank was quite curious what my “Friday night job” was and I made up some lame excuse so he wouldn’t know I had to actually work. Lillian stayed at the party with my roommate while I headed home.

At home I did my work, gnashed my teeth, cursed my fate, etc. Finally Lillian and my roommate got home! My roommate went to bed and Lillian and I stayed up to talk.

Like any good sister, her first question was, “So who was that guy you were talking to all night?”

“Who, Frank? Oh, he’s just a friend.” (Famous last words…)

Love Story Part 2: Proposal? Already?

I’ve been putting off telling this story because there are parts of it that are difficult to tell. Parts that even members of my own family don’t know about. But every time I’ve shared something on here that was hard to say, someone out there in the world has said that it helped them. So I’m going to forge on ahead here, and please bear with me and this rambly and much-delayed narrative.

Also, there is no way this is not going to be a million parts long. There’s just way too many details and way too much to say.

The night of the infamous cook-off

When I walked into Conservatism on Tap that night looking like a hot mess, the first thing I did was head straaaaaight for the drinks. Priorities. My friend Bart spotted me and came over to say hi. He briefly introduced me to his friends—I didn’t remember any of their names. Frank says he remembers me looking kind of rosy-cheeked. I wonder why.

We didn’t have much time to chat because the lecture was about to start. I lurked behind a pillar in the back and vigorously fanned myself while inhaling red wine. The lecture was much too long, and so was the Q&A, but at least by the end of it I had cooled down enough to look presentable.

After the lecture I went over to Bart’s group of friends and re-introduced myself. My first impression was that Frank’s tie was too tight, while his was that I was “outgoing and opinionated.” I was in a friendly mood (thanks to the wine?) and was being more than usually outgoing. Neither Frank nor I remembers our first conversation (it was definitely not love at first sight) but Facebook chats from the next day reveal that we argued about “the perfect summer cocktail”—he held out for gin and tonic while I mulled mojitos and sangria. It was at this point that I somehow acquired a reputation among Bart and his friends as a partier—no idea why. Frank and I found out we both liked old movies and history—and loved to cook.

That first conversation must have gone well, because I ended the night strolling arm in arm to the metro station between Bart and Frank. This was not usual behavior for me—historically I was always afflicted with temporary paralysis in the presence of attractive males. But Frank didn’t present an issue for me—not because he wasn’t cute, but for reasons I’ll go into later.

Love Story: It Begins with a Bike

A few days after I met Frank

It’s hard to decide where our story starts. I met Frank for the first time on July 21, 2011—exactly two years ago today. But the extraordinary-to-us constellation of ways the universe lined up for us starts many years earlier.

Should I start with the glorious two weeks I spent at Princeton four years ago? I went to the local Starbucks while I was there—the same Starbucks where Frank was working full-time for the summer. We have no way of knowing if we ever met; we don’t remember. I like to tell my girl friends that you really never know; your Starbucks barista could be your future husband—mine was!

Should I start with the conference in Annapolis the following summer, when I first decided to pursue a journalism job in DC? I met Bart at that conference—Frank’s good friend, who introduced us that fateful July 21st.

Should I start with the Immaculate Conception novena I prayed my senior year of college, in December 2010? I wanted to meet my future husband before I graduated (feel free to judge, I don’t know what I was thinking). But a whole year passed, and the following December I was still single.

There’s an argument to be made for each of those beginnings. But the truth is, our story begins on July 21. And it begins with a bike.

I had moved to Washington, DC, a month after graduating from college, for a one-year journalism fellowship. I arrived with two suitcases and exactly one friend in the city. That first summer was exhilarating—and terrifying. I was lonely and mostly friendless, trying to build an entire social network from scratch.

Because I am possibly the world’s biggest extrovert, I began emailing and Facebook messaging every random acquaintance I could think of to see if they wanted to hang out. I went to a pool party with a high school friend’s cousin; I watched the midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter movie with a group of Presbyterian friends-of-friends I’ve never seen since; I watched the Fourth of July fireworks on the National Mall with my roommate-of-two-weeks and her grad school friends. And when Bart from that one summer conference invited me on Facebook to a lecture/happy hour called “Conservatism on Tap,” I said “Yes” right away.

Conservatism on Tap started at 7, and I would be leaving work at 5. What to do with the two hours in between? I did need to return some dresser knobs I'd bought from Anthropologie. And really, I just wanted an excuse to visit Anthro. That store has always been my favorite.

The nearest Anthropologie was two miles away, in Georgetown. But no matter. I had recently heard of Capital Bikeshare, a program that let anyone in DC rent a bike for $5. A brilliant plan formed in my head. I would bike to Anthropologie, return my dresser knobs, and bike back just in time for the lecture.

“Do you even know how to ride a bike?” was my dad’s response when I told him this story recently. Truth be told, I hadn’t ridden a bike in years. I was also brand-new to the city with no clue where I was going. On the scale of one to brilliant plans, that bike ride was a negative ten.

Oh, I made it to Anthropologie alright, and I made it back. But I also fell off the bike three times, accidentally ran into two people, and had to ask for directions over and over. Worst of all, I got embarrassingly hot and sweaty; DC is a humid swamp in the summer, and I got so lost that I was peddling my guts out to make it back on time.

I strolled into the happy hour that night looking about as awful as I could look. My hair was plastered to my forehead, my blouse was streaming with sweat and my face was tomato-red. I ran to the bathroom and frantically splashed cold water in an effort to improve the situation. But there was no help for it. I was going to have to walk into that swanky DC happy hour looking like I’d just left a hot yoga class.

If you had told me at that moment that I was seconds away from meeting my future husband, I would have laughed in your face.