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They say once you’re in, you can never get out.
Well, that’s not true for everyone. I got out. Rocco got out.
In search of a better future, we sold our businesses. It was a wild decision, a total leap of faith. I told him it was crazy, but he just kept insisting.
He told me, “I want to roam the world with the woman I love. I want to experience life with you.”
And just like that, we became connoisseurs of what the globe had to offer us.
I’m getting older, but that doesn’t mean the story is over. Right now, I’m with my loving, crazy husband, and we’re standing on the edge of the Mount Kailash in Tibet. We’re drinking our cof
fee before the hike of a lifetime.
Did I ever think this would be something I would have wanted? No. But we’re both adventurous and willing to commit to the things that others are too scared of doing. It’s a little like masturbating in a hotel lobby, only different.
Okay, bad analogy.
We got married at the foot of this mountain over eighteen years ago. I said, “I do,” with our son strapped to my back.
It felt crazy. It felt right. Most important, it felt like like us.
Sometimes, when I think about Detroit, I feel a deep nostalgia. However, every time I visit my old home, I feel further and further away from it.
We’ve made new memories. New promises. New hopes and dreams. They’re much more important this time around.
Henry, our beautiful boy, is nineteen years old. Even though it’s hard to accept, he’s an adult. We’ve been through the diapers, the crying, and the whole mess that is and was puberty. Now he’s off in Paris, writing his newest book. I’m praying it’s as much of a hit as his last one.
It’s time for him to live out his own story.
I’m proud of him for following his dreams. It took us half a life to do the same.
As we hit the last ascent, Rocco pauses to breathe and take in the sight below. “You want to know something?” he asks.
I smile, fingers intertwined with his. The wind blows through his peppered hair. “I don’t know. Do I?”
“I still have those panties you gave me,” he says.
“You’re insane.” I say. “You do not.”
He keeps that dirty smile on his face and reaches into his bag, pulling out the white pair of panties.
I laugh and shamefully cover my face. “Oh my God! Rocco, put those away. This is a holy site!”
“What? You’re saying your panties aren’t holy?” he asks. “As far as I’m concerned, they are.”
I can’t stop laughing. “You’re unbelievable,” I say. “Seriously. How did I marry someone like you?”
“I’m irresistible,” he says.
Yep. He’s still the same cocky guy I fell in love with.
This is love. Keeping someone’s panties from the first sexual encounter twenty years ago is love. It’s a weird kind of love. It’s a quirky kind of love.
But it’s still love, in my book.
He bundles the fabric in his hand and lets them fly into the wind.
“No matter how old we get, I’ll never stop loving you,” he says.
