My birthday party was a wild success, if I do say so myself. Thirty of my friends and coworkers came out to sing and observe karaoke, one of my favorite pastimes, and drink, another of my favorite pastimes. I wore the scandalous fuschia dress, sang my heart out, and drank eleventy thousand Bud Lights. I switched to Jack and Diet Coke later in the evening, but I somehow didn't get plowed, which was best for everyone involved, I think.
I panicked around 11 p.m., because N still hadn't arrived, even though he texted me at 10, saying he'd be there soon. Of course I panicked, because I'm Jane, and I wouldn't be Jane if there wasn't some form of irrational anxiety involved.
But N came soon after that, with a rather expensive gift for me, and he was by my side the whole night, talking to my friends, buying people drinks, smiling, kissing me, cheering me on. We came back to my place afterward for a nightcap, and we talked about "turning points" in our relationship -- the moments we knew we liked each other. I told him mine -- a moment at a cozy restaurant in mid-October, when he said something that caused me to see his good heart. I asked him what his was. "When we turned the corner at Delancey and Essex," he said. "Wait...when?" I said, confused. He looked at me and said, "Our first date."
N said he saw this night as a turning point as well. I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. I was blown away.
I'm seeing him again tonight. He called me to make the plan.
During the party, my friend D the Williamsburger took journalist-style photos documenting the entire night. One is of me, blond curls spilling down the side of my face, eyes downcast, mouth smiling and coy. It is a picture of a woman in love. When D took the photo, I was talking to N.