The day after Jacob and I met, I called my best friend Wendy to talk about him. I was already crazy about him, but I needed a second
opinion. It's a good idea to get one when you've been diagnosed with a serious illness, and the early pangs of love are not much different. I hardly
remember what I said to her about him. I only remember that I talked for two hours straight about what a lovely man he was. After that, even being
four thousand miles away in Oklahoma, and without even meeting him face to face, Jacob passed her inspection. You know the expression, "to spread
like wildfire?" Well, at one point during our conversation, Wendy told me a bit of news she'd heard at school, about how, she said, "it spread like
wildflowers!" Then she paused, sensing that something was amiss, and we both dessolved into howls. Spread like wildflowers. Isn't that great? It's so
much better than wildfire, and yet still fitting.
Sometimes when I tell people about Jacob, I think about that conversation. I like to tell them that he spread like wildflowers thought my
life. Because he did. He does.
Jacob came into my life with relatively few flaws, as these things go. His hygiene is pretty good, give or take some minor stubble. He
doesn't snore, except when he has a cold. He'll even watch romantic movies with me, which, for an American male, is really saying something. He
does have one major flaw. He works nights and he sleeps all day. But even this didn't stop me from diving in again. When Jacob and I first met, we
used to joke, wincing all the while, that we had as opposite of schedules as two people could. Me an early riser and him a night crawler. Though pretty
soon we fell into sort of a nice routine. He would come home to me in the morning while I was just waking up and we would cuddle until he fell
asleep. I would start my day and around two or three in the afternoon he would wake and we would spend the rest of the day together until he went to
work. It was painful, to say the least, and certainly taxing, but in a small, secret way, I liked it.
For as nice as it is to wake up next to someone and to spoon while you fall asleep, there is something to be said , too, for being apart. For
one thing, it left plenty of time for missing him, which, when done right, could be delicious in its way. It gave me time to decide, with a soundtrack
of Norah Jones in the background and a cookbook in my lap, what I was going to make him for dinner. Those moments were mine and he would
have never be silent enough for me to just relax with my favorite cookbook. So while he slept I planned and I cooked, when he woke to the smell he
would come out of the bedroom, bed-head in tact and following his nose, we would sit and eat. It was our life, our routine, and I was in love with it.
One such night, I climbed into his lap in the middle of dinner and told him, with a prickle of fear, that I was falling in love with him. He agreed he
felt the same and a month later we were engaged.