The day I met the man who would be my husband, I believe I had not had a shower.
I still own the adorable purple tank top with a tiny white floral print that I was wearing that day. I had bought it on clearance, in the Benetton store in downtown Boston in the summer of 1986, shortly after I had moved there as the denouement of flunking out of college. I was uncharacteristically braless that day as well. Howie is a real sucker for a nice rack. But one of his finest qualities is, he never lets a woman catching him ogling.
We had been introduced as an afterthought. Our mutual friend, Jim, had typically decided at a moment's notice to come up from Manhattan for the weekend. He had phoned me at about midnight to say that he and his girlfriend were just leaving; that they would be staying with Howie (the name stuck in my memory as 'one of Jim's weird music friends'); that he'd phone me tomorrow and we'd get together.
I had met virtually none of Jim's friends, nor had he met mine. Our friendship was very bounded in this way: we'd met because he was the friend of an ex-boyfriend, a couple of years before I had moved to Boston; and after I moved, we got into a habit of monthly day or dinner dates that usually involved hours of aimless wandering and conversation, or one or more of Jim's urgent restless errands that never seemed to reach fruition. Then he moved off to New York, and we'd stayed in contact by phone.
So when Jim phoned the next day and arranged for me to tag along to the mall (yet another errand), this fit pattern and I was game. He got off the phone, turned to Howie, his host, and announced, "Jill is coming with us."
"Who's Jill?" Unlike me, Howie thought he knew Jim's whole circle of Boston acquaintance, and this name was utterly alien.
Jim paused, something occurring to him: "She's a nice Jewish girl, that's what."
And here's the thing: although I was rabidly up for snagging a lifelong mate, Howie totally flew under my radar. We met, we all went to the mall (terrifically ironic, because Howie loathes malls beyond wit and reason), we went to lunch, chatted--and it never occurred to me that he was remotely interested.
Shortly thereafter, Jim phoned me and announced, "I've been asked to provide directory assistance." Howie, it appeared, wanted my phone number to ask me to an Elvis Costello concert. Naturally, I grilled Jim: "What's the backstory on this guy? Tell me all about him." There was a slight pause. "Howie ... is trying new foods." Well, that was a promising start. Jim assured me that Howie was a terrific fellow, prince among men, that sort of thing: kind, intelligent, funny. Nothing can take the place of a strong personal reference, you know?
Howie did call soon after to ask me to the concert, and I agreed; we also decided on a earlier, dry run meeting. We met in Harvard Square, and I suggested we go to The Coffee Connection, which was a really very superior coffeehouse* that would grind and serve a French press of any of their twenty or so types of beans, to order. Howie said, "Why don't you order?", so I got us Sumatra for two. When the coffee arrived, Howie remarked offhand, "You know, I've never had coffee before." So I was the tour guide for his first cup of coffee.
A few months later, we went on our first trip together, Labor Day weekend, to Québec City. One morning, we were having nice croissants with ordinary strawberry jam for breakfast. Howie said, "This strawberry jam is delicious! "Really?" I tasted it again. "Hmmm ... just tastes like strawberry jam to me." "Well," he said, "I've never had strawberry jam before." The next day, on our way back to Boston, we decided to get married.
Which we did, about twenty-two months later. That was eleven years ago today. My husband is an extraordinary man. He has kindness, wit, strength, integrity. He has enormous heart and unassailable intellect. He is a rock: in thirteen years, he has never let me down. He has an immense talent for fathering, which grows broader and deeper on a daily basis. He gardens and cooks and he can literally explain to a child why the sky is blue, and that child will understand why. My deep respect and boundless love for this amazing man are inexpressible. He makes me laugh, and he lets me cry. In his company, I have never felt less than entirely cherished.
Howie, I will always love you. Happy Anniversary, darling.
*So superior was The Coffee Connection that, before Starbucks ever opened up a single store in the Boston metro area, they bought up the entire CC business and phased it out over a two-year period, thus eliminating its only serious competitor by fiat.
