The priest we are discussing marriage with is our age; he graduated from the seminary in July. (He shared a fist bump with the Boyfriend, since both are celebrating their first year not in school since age five.)

When he asked us each “Why Jillian; why the Boyfriend?”, I remember looking over at the Boyfriend and thinking “Yeah, why?” But before I could answer, the priest interjected that our answer could not include the word “love”. And I said “It wasn’t going to.”

I don’t want to marry the Boyfriend because I love him, that much I know.

* * *

Last Saturday was (I think) suppose to be a really romantic weekend in New York City for us. We had a nice hotel room and reservations at a great restaurant.

But we spent the majority of the weekend battling the monsoon that descended upon New York City. By 4 o’clock on Saturday, I asked the Boyfriend if we could just go back to the hotel and get out of our wet clothes.

As we ran up Central Park towards the hotel, without using our useless umbrellas, the Boyfriend looked to me and said “There’s no one I’d rather be doing this with but I really don’t even want to be doing this with you right now.”

* * *

Yesterday there were massive layoffs at my office. I don’t like calling the Boyfriend at work, but I couldn’t wait until our nightly call to tell him. My heart was broken, I was physically shaking, and the tears were coming fast.

He was shocked when I started listing off the people who were gone. And I said “What if it’s me too? I’ll just come live in Boston right?”. This is what he says at the end of each visit, that he’s taking me back with him to Boston. His response was a resounding yes and that we would be ok.

When we did have our nightly talk, he said that he was serious: if I ever lost my job (which, thankfully, I did not yesterday), I could go be with him or stay here or do anything I wanted. And we would be ok.

We.

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