Better Late Than Never

Fourteen years ago today J.R. and I got married. It was the sweet culmination of a rather tortuous road to bliss.

Sit down, Darlings, it's story time. In fact, if it's after five someplace in the world, you might want to pour a glass of wine. I've got mine, and here we go …

For the past fifteen minutes, I've searched this blog for various words and phrases, such as J.R., JR, anniversary, and John. So many sweet little memories—snippets—of his life. I'll set the stage for today's stories by referring you to the story of how we met.

After living with me for a year-and-a-half, and pursuant to much begging, pleading, and guilt-tripping by a woman with whom he had been having an affair before we met, he told me he was in love with her and wanted to be with her. Three months later I moved out. Once she got him, she didn't want him any more; she just didn't want me to have him. I went off and married someone else, and two-and-a-half years and one death threat later, I separated from that husband. The day John heard that I was separated, he started calling me again.

I was extremely reticent to trust him, but a dinner or two couldn't hurt, right? How about a trip to Wolf Trap to celebrate his mother's 88th birthday? How about a mutual friend's dinner party? After about four months, we were together on a regular basis, and I was going back to my apartment only to get more clothes. The cat moved in. The things left by the interloping woman were returned or, better yet, thrown away. And, six months after our second first date, I gave up the lease on my apartment.

In between the first time I entered his house in our first life, and my reentry into his house in our second life, the Interloper had redecorated. She had put her touch on as many portions of his house as she could reach. I bore her ill will. I bore her tons of ill will! He started to talk about our future together, and I told him with not a moment's hesitancy, "If we're going to start over again, we're going to do it in a place with no Ghosts of Relationships Past."

We started house-hunting. Our realtor recommended that we look at a house on Irving Street, a mile away from John's house on Argonne. He described it, and his description didn't really appeal to me. But he persisted. "Jan," he said, "just look at it." The next Sunday the realtor held an open house. After walking around the house for 5 to 10 minutes, John and I went back to his house and that night the realtor wrote up the offer.

A few days later, we went to the mortgage lender's office and started going over the loan application with the agent. When he came to the question regarding how one is to take title to the property, he explained the four types of title. John listened, then turned to him and said, "Tenancy by the entireties." I looked at him, puzzled. I asked, "You know that means we have to be married?" He grinned a lopsided grin and said, "I know."

The offer and the loan application occurred in early January. Every week, I'd find some reason to say, "You know we've got to get married before we close on the house, right?" Each time he would answer in the affirmative. And say nothing more. The "tenancy by the entireties" statement appeared to be the only proposal I was going to get.

Days and weeks passed. We were having the house inspected, talking to the interior designer and amassing boxes. But we were no closer to setting a date.

On Saturday night, March 9, 1996, we were driving down Rock Creek Parkway on our way to the Kennedy Center to attend a performance of the opera "Cosi Fan Tutte." A little frustrated, I again turned to him and said, "You know we have to get married?" He glanced over at me and said, "How about April Fool's Day?" With a sneer in my voice, I quickly responded, "I'm not getting married on April Fool's Day." He laughed, paused a moment or two, and asked, "How about the Ides of March?" I looked at him and asked, "Why the Ides of March?" He quickly responded, "At least that way I couldn't forget our anniversary."

I told him I wasn't crazy about the Ides of March. He glanced over at me again and asked, "How about a week from tonight?" I looked at him with astonishment and asked, "Are you sure?" When he said "Yes", I said, "You're on."

We found our seats in the Kennedy Center Opera House, but had a very difficult time focusing on the opera. When intermission came, we looked at each other and said, "Let's get out of here. We've got a wedding to plan."

That night we determined the wedding would be at his golf club, Hidden Creek Country Club. We drew up the guest list. The next morning we called the club to make sure a room was available. We called all the guests and asked them to reserve the date. On Monday we spoke with the chef at the club to get menu ideas. At lunch I walked around the corner from my L Street office to a jewelry store at whose window I frequently dreamed. The perfect ring was waiting for me. Monday night we went to Nordstrom where I got my dress, and to a Tyson's Corner jeweler where we picked out a ring for him. Tuesday night we faxed invitations to the guests. Wednesday we went to the club for lunch to settle on two entrees, and that night faxed menu choice questionnaires to the guests. Somewhere in all the activity, we tracked RSVPs and found a minister and exchanged voicemails with the club marketing manager to get all the details ironed out.

On Saturday afternoon, as we were dressing to head to the club, John looked at me, told me how beautiful I looked, and asked me if I would marry him.

That was his proposal.

I said "Yes."