My best friend Leslie's husband, Marc, was in law school, and she called me after going out with his friends one night to say she had someone to introduce me to. She'd met him before but only really hung out with him the night before, and knew he was perfect for me instantly. She had told him so as well.
Now - she had already attempted to fix me up once with another of Marc's law school friends, so I told her not to give this guy my number so we could go on some awkward first date, and that instead I'd meet him out one night with all of their friends. I'd met many of them before, so at least it'd be a low-pressure situation.
A bit of time passed, and it hadn't happened yet - then she called one day to tell me that he had asked Marc about it, so I figured he at least was open to meeting someone, a good sign. We chose a Thursday night when the group would be out celebrating two birthdays at a bar in Hoboken. That was ten years ago last night.
First, I went to Leslie and Marc's apartment, where she and I split a bottle of white wine. Yes, a whole bottle. It was a beautiful summer night and we drank out on her tiny patio, catching up. Then we went to dinner at a local BYOB Mexican restaurant where they take your bottle of wine and make sangria with it. So we drank - yes - that whole pitcher as well.
I. Was. Wasted.
We walked into the bar, I got (yet another) drink, and we made our way down the tiny flight of stairs to where their group had gathered. She pointed Evan out to me, and I remember thinking that he looked like such a nice guy, and had the most gorgeous blue eyes.
Somehow he and I ended up talking. It's all a bit blurry, and thankfully was for him too because he had been there for a while, so I wasn't on such a drastically different level of sobriety than him. I remember asking him where he lived - "Harrison." "Oh, New York? I grew up..." "No, New Jersey." "Oh. Well where did you grow up?" "Middletown." "Oh, New York!?" "No. I'M FROM NEW JERSEY." Ha - that is the first conversation either of us remember having with each other. It was like a Marx Brothers skit from minute one.
At some point, I wanted to confirm that he knew I was the girl he was supposed to meet, so I think I said something super slick like, "I'm Lesley. We were supposed to meet..." And he stared at me smiling, nodding, and said he knew that. I barely remember anything else - just that he stood right by my side for the rest of the night. I can still remember what it felt like that night, standing next to him and looking up as we talked, though neither of us remember about what. It was instantly comfortable, playful and easy. He bought me another drink (like I needed that!) and told me not to move while he went to get it, and I didn't. Smoking cigarettes was still allowed in Hoboken bars, and at one point while (I think) trying to impress him, I danced and fell (again, suuuuuper slick), burning my hand on one of the butts. THAT I remember. Ouch.
Soon after, he walked me to the PATH train so I could get home to New York City. It was just a few blocks, and we randomly spoke French to each other, because we'd realized we both took it in high school. And I complained about my hand, and he told me he was impressed I wasn't complaining about my feet and shoes like most girls did. And I said that I only wasn't because my burnt hand hurt so damn much.
At the train, he took my number and didn't kiss me good-bye - a move I thought was to leave me wanting a kiss, but I have learned since he was just too shy to make. (All together now - awwwwwwwww...) I left the next day on my annual family vacation (the same trip we are on together right now) and told them all I had met a guy I really liked. He called right after I got back, and we went on our first date a week later. You'll hear about that on that anniversary.
Happy ten years since we met, Evan... I'll try not to complain about my shoes hurting tonight! Lerve you...