Forget Mike!

Whenever people ask me how I met my husband, I generally give them the easiest answer: we used to work together. Depending on the available time and circumstances, and level of interest, some will probe further. “If you ‘used to’ work together, how did your pathes cross again?”

This is a good question, especially if people know that we were living over a thousand miles apart during our courtship. The explanation requires a comfortable chair, and if possible, a good view and a soothing beverage.

We did work together. I remember the first time I met him, the day I interviewed for a job. He was the first person I met on the campus. He gave me a tour of the facilities, and after I was hired, he was my supervisor.

We lived in a vibrant small town, filled with wonderful people and a very active rumor mill. Nothing, I repeat, nothing happened between us during this time.

That’s right, nothing.

Sure, I liked him; he was a nice guy, a good boss, very busy and otherwise occupied. We were on several of the same committees, and he gave me some feedback on my resume when I updated it. I asked him to serve as one of my references and he agreed. When he accepted a position in another state I e-mailed him periodically with news of the area and I eventually moved on to another job.

Then a curious thing happened one time when I e-mailed him: I received an e-mail response that was more than a polite note; it was a real letter, followed by another, and another.

And so, at the tail end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first, my future love and I began a friendship based solely on letters.

The demands of his job limited his opportunities for recreation and socialization. I mentioned that one of my cousins, Mike, shared similar interests and lived just a few hours away in a metropolitan area. Maybe the two of them could pursue some of these activities together sometime? I provided e-mail addresses and phone numbers, but after a couple of nudges I let it be.

After a few more months of ongoing communication, I thought, forget Mike, I want to do something with this guy!

We started planning a trip for the following summer; a brave move for two people who hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for a decade. I was visiting Mike and he drove me to the big first date, joining us for brunch while we absorbed the fact that we were finally face to face. My escort, my cousin, my friend—thanks Mike.

Mike and my husband have gone golfing together on several occasions since our marriage; I wasn’t too far off in predicting that they might enjoy each other’s company. However, I am very glad that I temporarily delayed their friendship so I could get to know the man who has become the love of my life and one of my dearest friends.

Without doing a thing, Mike’s presence brought two people together, and I’m never going to forget that.

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