A year and three days ago, the clocks changed. it went from 4am to 5, and my slurring turned sober. you had gone home.

No pumpkin came to pick me up. not that i needed one, but it’d be nice to have someone to take me home. it’d be nice to have that someone be you. i called an uber instead.

This wasn’t a new thing, me wanting you around. alone at my breakfast spot, as I trudged to the upper east side for work, and at the end of my very long days, “what if she was here?” I wanted you in the precious quiet of my life.

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Don’t be ridiculous, I thought. She’s your friend! But you made 80 servings of mashed potatoes for our show, and you were very sexy when you played your guitar (in an objective way), and you texted like a middle schooler on instant messenger, and ohmygod you were so funny. I’d watch you across a room making people laugh and feel so jealous that I had missed a single joke and, oh no, oh no, that wasn’t very friendly, was it?

A week before the clocks changed, I had a sit-down talk with myself as the Williamsburg bridge rolled past my window. “okay Haley, what is going on?”

So when I crawled inside my pumpkin uber, and I still had a little bit of not-sober in me, I reached for my phone. I hurriedly typed the least eloquent thing i’ve ever written. I thought you’d be asleep. But this time as I drove home across the bridge, I was talking to you.

One year ago today, you trudged over in a snow storm, and we spent the day together. At the end of it, I talked too fast as I told you I didn’t know what any of this meant. That I wasn’t good at not being good at this. You gave me a look like you often do, the one that says it’s okay not to know what’s going to happen. I asked “what should we do now?” and, as you often do, you took it as a grand existential question. I interrupted you, “I’m just wondering if we should maybe kiss now.” You grinned.

Three mornings ago the clocks changed. I didn’t see it happen, because we were sleeping. It had been a very long day, and I trudged home to you. You made me mashed potatoes, you made me laugh, and in the precious quiet of our life together, we fell asleep.

I love you, Lydia Jane. Happy one year.