I Won’t Marry You, But I’ll Move In

by J. Courtney Sullivan

In the summer of 1978, my mother accidentally flooded her boss’s apartment, and got sued. It’s a long story. The important part is that the young lawyer/aspiring rock star she hired to represent her later became her husband—my father. They settled the case out of court within a week.

Afterward, she invited him to dinner, ostensibly as a thank you, but really because she had decided that he was The One the instant she stepped into his cluttered office and saw his wide smile and thick black curls.

According to my father, that dinner was all it took to hook him for life. Three months later they were engaged, and now, after almost thirty years together, they are still happily married.

In some ways, I couldn’t ask for a better model. They fell in love, took a risk, and emerged victorious. None of the big questions were answered ahead of time, but they survived anyway.

Still, when I envision their clueless twenty-something selves, I want to sit them down and give them a talking to: He has cute hair and so you feel you ought to get engaged? Sweet Jesus. This is destined for disaster.