through sickness and health

I had never been in love before. So I didn't really know what to expect, or how I would know that I was in love.

He got really sick in January. It was before we were living together, and I called him in the morning before leaving for work. He didn’t pick up, but I thought he was in the shower. On the subway I tried again, and there was no answer. The second the clock in the bakery hit 11:00 I tore off my apron and ran out the door to the subway, barely managing to catch one before the doors closed. He still had not answered his phone. When I arrived at the apartment, it smelled like stuffiness and sick and I found him crouched on the bathroom floor.

I gave him a cool washcloth and a glass of water, took his temperature and tucked him into bed with the trash bin by the nightstand, promising to come back in a few hours.

When I got back and his temperature was above 104, his skin pale and clammy, I helped him out of bed, and very slowly we made our way out the door and down the 5 flights of stairs to the garage. We drove to the emergency room and I held his head in my lap under the bright white lights as he groaned and mumbled nonsense in Spanish and English and Portuguese about unicorns and French toast.

It made me sick to watch him disappear with the doctors through the double doors, leaving me sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair all alone. I remember being so worried about him I couldn’t even think straight. I think that's how I knew.

When a friendly old doctor came over to me to tell me I could see him, I actually hugged him before dashing inside.

The first time we said I love you was there, in the hospital, me crouched by his bedside, our hands intertwined.