I don’t know whether like comes first or lust comes first, but either way, it didn’t take me long to like or lust after Ash. He was unlike anyone I had ever dated before. He was adventurous, intelligent, hilarious, handsome, fun. He was such a dreamer and he carried me away so many times on one of his many ideas, picturing what it would be like to live on a sailboat or backpack Europe or randomly move to the mountains of Colorado, that one we did make happen. We loved to talk about all the places we wanted to visit and explore together. How to maximize our living and minimize our working. Looking back, it makes sense, my husband’s thirst for life. I was never much of an adventurer before meeting Ash, preferring to stay in my bubble of safety. He brought out the adventure in me that had apparently been lurking just below the surface.

Our first 6 months together were pure bliss. We couldn’t get enough of each other. After he eventually started contacting me with regularity, of course. That took a hot minute. But once we both realized what we had, we fell hard and we fell fast. I never knew a relationship could be so much fun! We didn’t over complicate it, we didn’t label it. We just existed together, constantly. It wasn’t long before we spent every night together, we woke up together, we met for lunch every day, we emailed all day long while both pretending to work hard.

We took our first trip together to Tucson, AZ. We also had our first ever fight in Tucson, AZ. If you knew Ash, you know that golf was his first love. He lived and breathed it. So, of course, on vacation, golf was on the agenda. In Tucson. Where it’s approximately 112 degrees. But it’s a dry heat so totally different. (Whoever said that is a moron, 112 degrees is hot, dry or not). I was pretty excited. I had never played golf but was eager to try it. How hard could it be. I was athletic, grew up playing sports and had a pretty solid miniature golf game. I was sure I’d be great. Ok, if not great, halfway decent. We get to the golf course that was conveniently right across the street from the condo we’re staying in, Ash pays for 18 holes, FOR ONE, declines a cart and heads back outside to the range to warm up, me, dumbfounded, mouth probably hanging wide open, slowly trodding behind him.

We get outside and I inquire why I don’t get to play. He laughs, in my face, mind you, and says “Kellie, you’ve never played golf, you don’t have clubs, why would you play? Let’s get you some beers, you’ll have a great time.” OK, fuck you is my initial thought, but I’ll go with it. How bad could it be? It’s only 112, midday, in Arizona, walking 18 holes with this selfish tool bag that won’t let me play. No problem. I got this. I’ll get drunk on overpriced Miller Lite and get a good, 4+ hour walk in. “We’re” (I use “we” loosely because I wasn’t an active participant because my boyfriend is an asshole) paired up with 2 young local guys and set out on our way.

The first couple of holes are fine. I drink my Miller Lite, walk along, marvel at Ash’s talent level, make friends with his pairing, maybe pee behind some cacti because of all said Miller Lites. The guys we’re paired with convince Ash to let me hit a shot eventually. He does, reluctantly. On a hole with a huge fucking pond in the middle of it. Moron. Ash is very protective of his *golf* balls. He makes this very clear when I swing (and actually make contact), the ball makes forward progress (winning) and lands right in the water. You would have thought I just threw his whole bag of clubs in the pond. He was so pissed. This was the first (of many, many over the course of our relationship) lecture/hyper criticism I had ever received from Ash. I mean, it was one golf ball, but the words kept coming out of his mouth. Do I know how much he pays for golf balls? (No, nor do I care) Why did I hit it in the water? (Because that was totally my intention) No more hitting his golf balls. The poor guys we’re with take pity on me, allow me to hit their golf balls, with their golf clubs and let me ride in their cart because the asshole I’m with was too cheap to spring for one. I slam back way too many Miller Lites for the remainder of the round, pee on way too many cacti and sit and stew with my hate for Ash, refusing to speak or even look in his general direction.

I’m drunk. I’m hot. And I am pissed. We get to our rented purple PT Cruiser (can we say sexy), all my muscles cramping because of said beer, heat and lack of water, just one more thing to add to my already agitated state. We head back to the condo where my completely oblivious, self-absorbed jerk face of a boyfriend jumps into the shower. I follow him in there, rip him a new one and he just laughs out loud, in my face again, and then kisses the hell out of me. And that’s when I knew. I am in love with this selfish, critical, infuriating, hilarious asshole. I was still angry, though, and proved that to him by having hot, angry shower sex with him (sorry Mama!) coz that will teach him. My anger continues when he takes me to dinner at some gross, country cookin’ restaurant called Mimi’s Cafe where the featured item on the menu is pot roast. Yuck. I mean, we’re in Tucson, AZ and Mexican food is my love language. Come on, man!

Either way, that ridiculous, awful, beautiful day in the armpit of America is where I realized for the first time that I was in love with Ash Jones, golfer, dreamer, asshole. Did I tell him? Of course not. That happened on New Year’s Eve, a couple of months later after yet another fight that almost ended our relationship. But that’s another story for another day.

Falling in love is a messy business. Vulnerability is not something I’m good at, expressing my feelings, out loud, makes them all too real. May I offer you a sarcastic comment or an inappropriate joke? Those I excel at. But without love, what are we doing here? What’s the whole purpose? Take the leap. Tell it like it is. Live your adventure. Because you just never know when that adventure might end. And wouldn’t you rather have it end with all those you love actually knowing that you love them and also knowing that you lived every fucking day like it might be your last?