Okay, Lucas. You’re too young to roll your eyes at me or even sit still for a conversation longer than one minute, so for now I’ll just write this down for you to (maybe) read at a later date. One day you might ask me, “Mom, how did you and Dad meet?” and I’m going to stumble a little, as I always do when I tell people this story. Because the thing is, Lucas, your father and I met…in Las Vegas.
I’m not sure what people will think about Vegas when you become a teenager, but in 2006 when I went to there for a business trip, Vegas was a party place where people went to hook up with strangers, drink, gamble, and maybe take in a show. I was sent there for a full week by myself to review dance shows and competitions for the magazine that I worked for in New York. Your dad was dragged along with his friends, even though he wasn’t much of a drinker, didn’t gamble, and he counted playing Command and Conquer into the wee hours of the night as a really wild time.
For the week that I was in Vegas, most of my work took place during the night, which left my mornings and afternoons wide open. I can’t tell you how bizarre it was to be alone in Las Vegas not getting afternoon drunk on cocktails served by banana-hammock-clad pool boys. Time had a strange way of both zooming by and flowing like molasses. I was equal parts geared up and ridiculously bored. So the only natural thing for me to do was to eat Alaskan king crab legs from the buffet at 9am, and then head down to the pool.
…Which is where I saw him.
Your dad was sitting by the pool with his friends when he turned around and flashed me his killer smile. I know, I know. You’re probably like ew. Stop. But it’s too late now—you asked. Be grateful I didn’t sit you down for eight seasons and tell you about all the dudes I banged before I met your dad (hint: waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay less than Ted Moseby).
I smiled back at him. He turned back to his friends and I returned to sunbathing. Glanced over again. Smiled. Blushed. Smiled back. Looked away. Pretended to be fully absorbed in fixing the strings on my bikini. Glanced over. He was looking again. Smiled. He still wasn’t coming over. I thought Should I do something? I shouldn’t do anything. Glanced over. Yup, he was smiling again.
Clearly, I was going to have to do something. I decided to up the stakes and jumped into the pool. Nothing is more awkward than swimming around in a pool by yourself attempting to look sexy while doing the doggie paddle. It was the middle of July in Vegas and I was getting hot, so I decided to dunk my head. Then I went for it—the Full Ariel.
This time I didn’t look back over at your dad because as soon as I launched myself out of the water and threw my hair back, I realized that 1. he would probably never, ever talk to me after that and 2. I was in too deep. Still, after swimming over to the fountain and attempting to hide my shame behind it, I realized there was no turning back. I chanced a look.
Still smiling. Still not coming to talk to me.
Phase three: I just swam over to him, pulled myself out of the pool, sat down beside him and said “hi.” Your Tio Eric’s sister was there, and she yelled out to your dad, “Buy her a drink, for God’s sake!” If I wasn’t embarrassed before, I surely was now. Thankfully, your dad didn’t seem to mind the fact that I circled him like a shark. We hit it off, chatting in the pool for so long that I got sunburned on only the left side of my body. We met for a burger before I had to go review a show, then we had a drink when I came back.
The next day, your dad left to go back to California. A couple days after that, I returned to New York. You would think, okay, you went on one date in Las Vegas, where nothing is normal. That should have been it! If you know anything about us, you know we are both pretty practical people, neither of us prone to impulsive behavior. But for some reason, we just kept going. We called. We talked. We discovered we missed each other. We fell in love with each other. We trekked across the country a few times to visit each other. And after only a few months, I moved out to California to be with him, leaving everything and everybody I knew behind.
A year after we met, we were engaged. A year after that, we got married. And then we had you, the best thing that has ever happened to either of us. Do you believe that if we hadn’t both gone to Vegas that week, hadn’t both stayed at the same hotel, hadn’t followed through after that smile, hadn’t called each other every day, hadn’t moved across the country and uprooted our lives—you wouldn’t be here?! Think about all the things that had to fall into place for you to become a person. And yet, you are here. And that just proves to me what I had a hunch about all along:
Meeting your father was magic.
Happy six-year anniversary, Alex :).
The Olive Gal
green of skin, black of heart
