After I told my mom all the details about the breakup, there was a long pause.  Then she said with some emotion in her voice,  “I just feel really strongly that there’s a reason you were supposed to date KK.  It needed to happen.  And I think there’s something else for you— right around the corner.  I just do.  And when it happens, there will be no confusion.”  The tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened, partly because all the feelings were raw, and partly because I felt what she was saying.  Moms give lots of advice and always say things like, “everything will work out for the best” because they’re supposed to, and it’s easy to blow off that kind of comforting because it’s so cliché.  But something about this one simple reassurance rang true with me, in a spiritual way.  It still hurt, but somehow I knew she was right.

The next few months were difficult for me.  KK and I had a partnership in the Big Brother/Big Sister Program, and we continued having weekly visits with “our kids.”  We were fairly comfortable with each other, yet it was awkward.  Mostly for me.  I still didn’t get what happened.  We obviously still got along, and I could tell we were both still attracted to each other.  There was a tiny bit of on-again, off-again, but usually with a restated “Oops.  We’re supposed to not be together.”  It just didn’t make sense.

In the meantime, I had several “opportunities” to go on dates with guys from my ward (congregation) at church.  It was a singles-only congregation and there were several hundred of us in attendance, so it was, in theory, easy to meet and date new people.  But as I would go out with these guys, they all paled in comparison to KK, which was depressing.  I thought maybe my one good chance had come and gone.  Anyway, there were a couple of them who were in hot pursuit, so to speak, but our interest levels were not mutual.  I was at the avoiding-phone-calls and ducking-out-of-church-early stage in our “relationships.”  It was uncomfortable.

The bishop of our ward wanted all his single members to date more and form relationships instead of just hanging out so much.  (His name was Bishop Love.  I’m not kidding.)  Each Sunday night, we had “Ward Prayer” where we would all gather back at the chapel for a devotional, several announcements, and mostly socializing.  The bishop asked two of my roommates to be in charge of Ward Prayer, and asked them to use it as a venue to encourage more dating.  I overheard his discussion with them, and as soon as he left our apartment, I said “Why don’t you guys schedule something called a ‘Ward Date’ where different apartments get assigned every couple weeks to plan some kind of party or activity or event?  Everyone in the ward is invited, but you have to bring a date.  Then people will have to ask each other out.”  We talked through all the details, felt like it might be a fun idea, and decided that, naturally, our apartment would have to host the first official Ward Date.  And this rotation would all be announced and coordinated at Ward Prayer.

I asked some random guy that I had no interest in whatsoever to be my date.  I had a gut feeling that as soon as the announcement was made, those two boys I was avoiding would run over and invite me, and I wanted to have legitimate plans already in place.  My roommates dragged their feet a little bit about getting dates and I nagged them about it.  (We were the hostesses after all.)  My roommate Sarah had mentioned to us several times one guy she had met at church that she thought was really cute and nice.

Sarah and I had known each other since we were twelve years old; in other words, for more than half of our lives.  We were in our sixth year together as college roommates.  We had endured many social ups and downs.  Sarah was a quiet, gentle type.  I was more loud and careless.  We were a good balance for each other.  Anyway, it wasn’t often that she even mentioned her love interests, and she’d brought this guy up a few times, so I told her she should invite him.  I’d never met him because I taught Gospel Doctrine Sunday School class at church, and when I taught I would get “in the zone,” and not pay much attention to who everyone was in the room.  So anyway, I’d never seen or met the guy, but we all encouraged her to invite him to the ward date.  She finally did, and he accepted.  My two other roommates eventually got their act together and found a date, so we were all set for the big night.  Homemade pizza and party games at our place.

The night came and we were excited as more and more couples showed up.  It looked like it would be a success.  Sarah’s date showed up and I met him.  His name was Matt.

Coming next… Chapter 3:  The Surprise

(Today is our tenth anniversary.  In celebration of our decade of destiny, I’ve decided to write how the love story began.  Happy Anniversary, Matt.  I love you.  To my readers, enjoy the ride.)

It seems strange to start with a breakup, but that is how our love story began.  I was 26 years old, which meant that, by BYU standards, my statute of limitations on marriage was quickly running out.  All my high school friends were married.  Some had even married, divorced, remarried and had children.  I mourned it occasionally, but for the most part, I was okay with it.  I was working on my masters degree, had traveled the world to some extent, had a fantastic group of friends, and was beginning the search for Ph. D. programs.  I considered myself bright, independent and full of future.  I wasn’t trying to avoid marriage or run away from relationships, but I didn’t picture myself as the married type— or the mothering type. (I’d never once planned out the colors or themes for my future wedding, and babysitting as a teenager taught me that wasn’t my cup of tea either.)  So, though I dated quite a bit, I wasn’t devastated by the fact that I was 26 years old and had never had a boyfriend.

Until now.  And it was big news.

On two separate occasions I was introduced to KK by different friends who thought we would “make a great couple.”  The first time, we realized we already knew each other from a summer literature course.  The third time we were introduced, I think we just surrendered ourselves to the fact that we’d better get to know each other, so we did.  The conversation led to an immediate connection, and we began spending more and more time together.  Over the next six months we became more and more involved in each other’s lives.  Though I had gone out on dates with probably a hundred different boys since my debut as a wide-eyed freshman, this was groundbreaking territory for me.  And I was surprised how much I enjoyed myself.

We seemed to be a perfect match.  We didn’t really call each other boyfriend and girlfriend (me, because I had no idea what the rules were for such titles, and him, because –looking back– he had a fear of commitment.)  But to everyone who knew us, KK and I were an item, a legitimate dating couple.  It was exciting.  Everyone went on and on about how great we were together.  My girlfriends would pull me aside and say, “Where did you find this guy?”  And I was really happy.

Then one night, after he invited me over to his house to watch Gone With the Wind (a class assignment— the movie part, not inviting me), he walked me back out to my car, and he broke up with me.  Just like that.  His speech went something like this:

“Like most guys, I have a list of everything I’m looking for in the girl I want to marry, and you have all of those things and more.  (He listed them and I don’t remember much except that he emphasized that the physical attraction was definitely there.)  BUT,  (that word rang loud) I don’t know how to explain it, I just feel like something’s missing.  I’m really sorry I can’t explain it any better that that.  I know it sounds dumb, but something’s just not there.”

I was stunned.  We hugged and left amicably, and I drove home in a whirlwind of confusing thoughts.  “Something’s missing?!  Thanks, I’ll work on that.”  I don’t know if I was numb, but I just stayed calm, and I drove back to my apartment.  I woke up one of my roommates, and said, “KK just broke up with me.”  “WHAT??”  She sat straight up in bed.  “What?  Are you kidding me?  No way.  What happened??”  I explained the whole odd story in a very matter-of-fact way.  She had a thousand questions.  I had no answers.  She kept saying things like “I’m so sorry.” and “I can’t believe it” and “Are you okay?.”  I said I was fine, and I shrugged and joked, “I guess it was just a major accomplishment to get to the point in a relationship where someone actually can break up with me.”

I traipsed into my bedroom, climbed into bed, and went to sleep.  The next day I called my mother.  That’s when the tears came.

Coming tommorrow…. Chapter 2:  The Transition