The morning after my wedding day, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of “oh, shit! Did I just mess up my life!?!?!?”  Fear, dressed in heavy work boots, was stepping on my chest and it was hard to breathe normally.  I was still five months short of my twenty-first birthday – so inexperienced and naïve, in the height of my religiosity – so the marriage would have to be endured until death if it was terrible, and paranoid that sex would never get better. 

I considered myself a very mature almost-twenty-one-year-old.  I was a college graduate, for God’s sake.  I survived communism! And immigration!  I navigated an intense religious change, had no credit card debt, or any debt, and was confidently starting graduate school in the middle of summer only two weeks after graduating. 

That morning none of it made me feel more confident.  I just felt like a fool.  Like Eve after eating the fruit, my eyes were opened, and I realized that I was naked and an idiot.  I remember acting weird and standoffish as my new husband and I looked for breakfast together in Hood River, where we had spent our first official night together.

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For some reason, this person next to me, who I had been dating for the past two years, was all a sudden a stranger to me.  Somehow it felt like I was seeing him through a different lens.  My brain was spewing around incomplete sentences: “is it always going to feel like …? Maybe I made a mis… What is normal…? Aren’t I supposed to be ecstatic? Is this happiness? I don’t think this is happ… Is this a sign from God…? Isn’t there such a thing as annulments!? eighteen hours after the wedding can’t be too late… what’s the procedure for this?”

Our nephew was turning one that day, the day after our wedding, and since Zach’s siblings were all in the area for the wedding, we were celebrating together that afternoon.  So Zach and I walked to a little shop to pick out a birthday gift.  I can’t remember what it was, but he made me laugh.  And he was kind.  This stranger was quite likeable.  On the way home he was patient, although now that I consider his feelings, my behavior was probably freaking him out. 

At the party, Zach played with the one-year-old until the kid’s face turned red from giggling (and from blood, due to a tongue biting incident).  “This guy is good with kids,” I thought as I watched this stranger, “and loves his family.”  Every so often he would look at me with smiling eyes and I knew he was happy that I was there with him. 

During one of those moments, I thought “This guy seems kinda great.  Maybe it’ll be ok.”