The red book.

mr wonderful
Photo by Dennis Berti

Three years ago today, Mr. Wonderful and I had our first date. Two weeks later, I invited him to join some friends and I to celebrate my 32nd birthday. Admittedly, I was a little bummed when he told me he’d be out of town during the festivities because I was eager to show off the “Hot Neighbor” I’d told my friends about. (That was our behind-his-back nickname for a solid two months.) But it was so early into our relationship that I kept my expectations for Hot Neighbor in check – and chalked up his apologetic decline to bad timing.

When Celebration Sunday came around, I spent the entire day in the company of good friends. A lovely brunch. Sangria. Late-night pizza. We even capped off the night with a little dancing on a school night. All my people were there and my heart was gorged with gratitude.

My best friend dropped me off at home around 11 p.m. and I walked the three flights of stairs up to my apartment – still smiling on the day’s events. That’s when I saw a brightly colored gift bag on my doorstep next to an enormous bag of M&Ms tied with a gold bow. I read the card attached:

“Happy birthday, beautiful. I’m positive I missed a good time.”

birthday surprise

I clutched my chest like I was having a heart attack.
No.
Surely not.
It can’t be from him.

But it WAS from him. And inside that bag was a red leather journal. That’s when I knew this was a man after my own heart – presenting me with all those gorgeous blank pages after having known me a mere two weeks! I couldn’t believe it.

I turned to that journal regularly after that, and in it I wrote about our experiences together. I recounted our travels. I shared fears. I wrote a poem. I told him about all the ways I was grateful for him. I expressed insecurities about my new role as a bonus mama. I made a list of things I loved about him. I thanked him for pursuing me at my most skeptical. I documented every detail of his Christmas Day marriage proposal and  admitted that I could hardly wait to be his wife. In blue and black ink, I poured my heart onto those pages for nearly three years.

Love can sure bring out the 16-year-old girl in you.

Last month, I took that red leather journal to Mexico with me. On the morning of our wedding day, I wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and hid it in our Cabo San Lucas hotel room for my groom to find after I’d gone to get ready.

That old birthday present had become a leather-bound record of our romance. And that record of our romance became my wedding present to Hot Neighbor, Mr. Wonderful, my husband.

 

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