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When my boyfriend, Jake, popped the question on a coastal hike in Northern California a few weeks ago, my mouth was stuffed full of trail mix. The great big moment and I wasn't prepared. I could barely listen to his sweet, ambling proposal, something I knew and hoped would come but could never be ready for. All I had to do was say "yes," so I
raced to chew and swallow and smile, feeling like a young girl unsure which way to tilt her head for a first kiss.
Jake and I first met at The University of Pennsylvania and shared a heady, late-night smooch or two in the final days before graduation. But it was two years later before I really fell for him, at a New Year's Eve party in New York City that touched off a week of romantic shenanigans hooky from work, ice cream in bed, snowball fights in Central Park. At the end of that week, Jake flew back to Moscow, where he lived and operated his own, newly opened health club. I returned to my studio apartment with my heart caught in a tangle of barbed wire. Somehow we made the long-distance romance work. I eventually moved to Moscow and now we live together in San Francisco with our Russian-born yellow Lab. Almost four years after that New Year's Eve the day I'll always consider our anniversary we find ourselves starting new lives and new jobs in the Internet industry and dreaming about a wedding that's just seven months away.
Read my monthly journal entries:
November 1999
December 1999
January 2000
February 2000
March 2000
April 2000
May 2000
July 2000
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