Hook, Line, and Sinker

Y never really set out to be his field of work, which is internet/search engine/business-development-related. He does a lot of sales, works at wooing big potential clients, and is surprised that he's good at it, because he never thought of himself as the salesman kind-of-guy. He can be pretty quiet, it's true, and is generally more of a social-observer than the center of attention at a party. He's also good at giving the impression that he's mysterious, that there's a lot more under there than meets the eye. Salesmen are typically more transparent.

But the truth is, we both should have known that he'd be a natural salesman, because he is very convincing, and even though I never considered myself gullible - hey, I grew up with fours brothers! - Y has managed to sell me on some of the most major decisions of my life.

When I look at the last seven years, all I see is a whirlwind of change and progress that I never saw coming. I certainly never anticipated being in this stage of life at age 25, nor did I plan for it. And it's all come as the result of meeting Y.

When we first met, he barely spoke to me. I was visiting a highschool friend at Brandeis University in Boston, had driven in for the weekend with my NY roommate to see what college life was like outside of the Union Square-to-Washington-Square-Park radius. Over in Waltham, Massachusetts, Y was the third wheel to the friend I was visiting and her boyfriend, and though I'd heard his name before, I hadn't given him a second thought.

Then we met. Lots of eye contact, lots of obviously-mutual attraction. But not a word between us. We had dinner together, in a group of people, and then all went our separate ways. Later that night, my friend asked me what I thought of her new boyfriend. I said he was great. Just as casually, she asked what I thought of Y. "Isn't he awesome?" she gushed. "He is really cool," I agreed. "There's something refreshing about him."

Unbeknownst to me, my friend immediately told her boyfriend, Y's best friend there, what I'd said. It went straight to Y. Who disappeared for the entire next day.

Saturday night, he still hadn't made any kind of move. I was still pretty sure he was interested, but didn't want to make a whole big deal out of it, and he was really giving me nothing to go on. We were leaving the next morning, so time was at a premium. Who was this freak? And why was he giving me such a hard time?

We were planning to go out that night separately - just the girls, and just the boys. As we sat around a dorm room discussing where we'd go, I noticed that Y was at the computer, IM'ing with someone. Still ignoring me.

I'd recently ended a somewhat long-term relationship, and I no longer had any patience for games. I had enough confidence to go for what I wanted, but lacked the requisite finesse to come out of it looking cool. And patience has never been my friend. So, with no idea how, I decided I had to take matters with Y into my own hands.

I approached him at the computer. "Why don't you check if I'm online?" I asked, cursing the words for popping out of my mouth so lamely. It was my way of giving him my screen-name - the computer-geek's equivalent of a cell phone number. But Y doesn't like making anything too easy. I was out on a limb.

"Why would I do that? I know you're not online - you're sitting right here," he replied, his face innocent. Damn.

"Right. Forget it," I rolled my eyes and started walking away.

"Wait," he said, finally. "What's your screen name?"

I told him, annoyed. I really didn't enjoy having to be the one making all the effort. We didn't speak a word to each other after that, and I left early the next morning.

In the car-ride home, my roommate and I were quiet for awhile. Then she spoke:
"What did you think of that guy, Y?" she asked.
"Kind of cute," I answered.
"Yeah," she agreed. "But seemed like an ass. Really full of himself, you know?"
"De-fi-nite-ly. Thinks he's hot stuff. I hate that. He's probably a real jerk."
Mortified, I didn't say a word about my big come-on.

The truth is, Y didn't really think he was hot stuff. He was just doing things in a way that is now all-too familiar - slowly, methodologically, thoughtfully. Biding his time, making sure that whatever he did was right, bound to succeed (he's always late for things). He didn't think the setting was right, that weekend, with everyone around, to start chatting me up. He says he would have asked my friend about me after I'd left, and worked from there.

But I'm impulsive. I hate waiting.

The next day, on a Blueberry iMac in the computer lab at Parsons, I got an email from Y saying something about how nice it had been to meet me, and that he was sorry he didn't get a chance to say goodbye. I made him grovel a little after that, but the rest is pretty much history. Our relationship was never casual; he asked me to marry him on our first real date. Though I had known he was the one that weekend at Brandeis, I suggested we wait a few years until we'd gotten out of school. He suggested Thanksgiving weekend.

My friends had always said I'd be the last in the group to get married, because I was so uninterested in domestic life. I didn't have a vision of my wedding at twelve, like some girls do. I did, however, have a vision of myself living as an artist in Paris. I had big career ideas and plans, I wanted to travel, and I was never the kind of girl who needed to have a boyfriend tagging along anyway.

When I met Y, all of my prior conceptions about how my life would play out flew up in the air, got mixed up with someone else's - some girl from Nebraska who worked at the local Walmart - and came floating back into my hands, revised and unrecognizable. Somehow, I didn't panic. I felt safe with Y, who encouraged me to pursue all of my dreams except the one about dating-around, and I accepted that man plans, while G-d laughs.

Marrying Y initiated a series of moves - geographical and otherwise - of newness, growth, and of throwing all caution to the wind. And though I can be spontaneous, I usually temper the impulse with a large dash of pragmatism, so sometimes I can hardly wrap my head around the married-with-two-kids thing myself.

Back then, I figured: Fine. I'll get married young. We met, we knew it was right, there wasn't much point in putting off the inevitable. But I'll wait to have kids. Till I'm out of school. Till we have money. Till it makes sense, logistically.
No question.

10 months after our wedding, 9/11 happened. I was vulnerable. Y saw opportunity, looked it in the eye, smiled, and welcomed it in.

"You know," he began, carefully (babysteps...babysteps...), "The world is a mess. 9/11 just happened and none of us know where we stand anymore. Everything could be gone tomorrow. We could all be killed tomorrow. I mean, this is a war. Who knows if we'll ever get the chance to have kids, to start a family? If we wait forever, we might not have forever."

How did I fall for that one? I have No. Freakin. Clue. But I guess some part of me must have agreed, because even Y was shocked when I tossed the rest of the pill pack out. I waddled through my classes at Parsons, pregnant with Elan, throwing up on the subway home, forcing Y to run out and fetch the Caesar salad dressing I was craving most midnights, and I was never happier.

Good one, Y.

I bring all of this up because last weekend, I was sitting and nagging my gorgeous sister-in-law about when she's gonna start providing me with some nieces and nephews to spoil. She said it had been just the two of them for so long, that she just couldn't imagine what it would be like to be so tied-down by the third wheel that is a baby. She said that she was scared, because when she and Y's brother witnessed an incident involving a stranger with a baby or young child, they'd both come away from it going, "Did you see that?" But her next words would be, "What an unbelievable brat!" while his are typically, "Awww. SO cute." Her fear of the unknown acted such that she could only fathom it going awry.

And while I've always been immeasurably thankful that I met Y for the joy that he, Elan, and Ariel bring into my life, talking to her made me realize how immeasurably thankful I am that I met Y for the ability it gave me to see the possibilities in the unknown, and the fearlessness to seek it out.

But I'll tell you one thing, between me and you.
This broad ain't gonna be falling for none of Y's little lines anymore.

She is SOLD OUT.