I was 26-years-old when I met my future husband. I had just started working at a cable news channel and I remember seeing him in the newsroom. I guess he saw me too because he asked a co-worker if I was single.
We had our first date at an Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. I remember thinking Rick was cute and I definitely wanted to go out with him again.
And we did have a second date. Four years later.
After our first date, Rick gave me this very long winded story about how he liked me (obviously) but he couldn’t go out with me because he had just stopped dating someone who happened to work in the newsroom too. About 12 feet from my desk. This girl was a close friend of his and the situation made her feel uncomfortable.
Which I translated as… it’s because I’m not Jewish.
From that day on, Rick and I would say hello when we passed in the newsroom but that was it. A year and a half went by and then I got my first on air TV reporting job in Great Falls, Montana. Rick heard about my new gig and thought it would be fun for us to get together before I left. I politely declined. Our destiny would have to wait.
I moved out of town and never thought much about him. I was too busy spelunking (this is not sexual I swear) and learning how to shoot a rifle in the mountains of Montana. Rick moved to London to be a correspondent where he never thought much about me. He was too busy trying to understand why London girls aren’t attracted to American accents.
Four years after our first date, I was back in Connecticut, working as a local TV reporter. I was covering the Michael Skakel murder trial. He was the Kennedy nephew who was eventually convicted of murdering a Greenwich girl in 1975.
Murder always plays a pivotal role in any great love story.
Rick was back in the United States, covering the same trial. And that’s when he saw me on the courthouse steps, apparently rummaging through my purse and looking very alluring.
We chatted. He seemed very excited to see me. I wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t this the guy who blew me off? He asked me out. I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. I wasn’t that keen on getting blown off again. But he joked, “I’m not asking you to move in with me. One date.”
So I went on one date. Our second date.
Two months later, we moved into together.
I found it challenging to live with someone. It took me some time to adjust. But I never had any doubts. I just knew he was the one. In October of 2001, he proposed. We were both still reeling from 9-11. We knew life could be short. We knew life was about the people you love.
I was nervous about getting engaged. What did I know about being a wife? Nothing I concluded. But the moment it happened, my anxieties vanished. We’d figure it out together.
He proposed on the roof of our building with Central Park as the back drop. It was cold and beautiful and magical. I said yes. And off we went into the sunset.