CHAPTER 2

From Friend to Soul Mate

I jumped out of bed the next morning, so excited thinking about the bachelorette day ahead. My friend Britney had stayed overnight with me at my grandma’s house in Virginia Beach. It was like a sleepover. We stayed in one room, and my grandma made us my favorite breakfast that morning: pancakes and scrambled eggs.

There was so much to do. My day was jam-packed with plans and appointments and last-minute shopping. I was getting my final fitting for my wedding dress; having lunch with my mom, Bubbie (my dad’s mom), and Britney; and then heading off to celebrate my pending wedding with my other friends. Lauren was still making her way to town, and the other girls were busy prepping and planning the night ahead, so they didn’t join us for lunch. It was my bachelorette party. I was going to marry my Prince Charming, the man of my dreams: Chris Chapman. This day was all part of the celebration leading up to that.

I was excited to hang out with this group of girls because we would all be going out together for the first time. They knew of each other, but we hadn’t spent too much time together as a group before. Lauren, Samantha, Carly, and Britney—all from different periods of my life—would finally really get to know each other and spend time together to celebrate with me. Just the five of us. But before the evening’s festivities, the group from lunch went to the bridal shop, so that I could try on my wedding dress for the very last fitting.

I had gone shopping for my wedding dress two weeks after I got engaged. All the girls were there, and each one went and grabbed a dress off the rack. Lauren pulled the one I ultimately chose. It was just beautiful. I tried on only four, but I fell in love with that one immediately. It was a strapless dress, corseted at the top and laced down the back. The skirt flowed from there, and it had an incredible train. My mom had seen it when I first picked it out, but when she looked at me in it all fitted and ready to wear, she was overjoyed. She said it looked like it was made just for me. She had wanted to buy it for me and I accepted, knowing how happy it made her to do that, even though she’d have to work very hard to do so. Everyone thought it was beautiful.

The bridal shop finished some of the alterations, and then we all headed out for a quick lunch at Applebee’s in town. I brought my veil and some flowers with me. After lunch we went to a local hair salon for a trial on how I’d wear my hair on my wedding day. We tried updos and all down, but in the end, we decided that curls, with half pulled up along the sides, would be best. I left with that look, which was great because I’d wear it out for the party that evening.

The biggest stress of the day was finding the right shoes for the bachelorette night. I wanted the perfect white high heels, or else I felt like the entire outfit would be ruined. I was sort of frantic that I wouldn’t find what I had in mind: really high stilettos, strappy and white, of course. I wound up finding the perfect pair, not knowing that even the ideal shoes couldn’t change the outcome of the night.

Chris and I had made it through the entire spring semester in 2005 without dating, but our friendship had grown really deep. He had become my very best friend. His relationship with his girlfriend had withered by then, and by April they’d broken up. He and I spent a lot of time together, but I didn’t think anything of it beyond us being friends.

In early June of that year, he invited me to his family’s vacation house on Lake Gaston by myself. We were just friends, but I knew at this point that he liked me. It was a little awkward, but I wanted to go because I thought it would be fun, and it was not too weird because we had been hanging out all of the time. I remember it was really hot around that time. I was wearing a little red bikini, sunbathing on the dock, which was down a hill a bit from the house. It was over water, connecting the house to the boathouse. The main house was a rustic place—wood, painted brown, not stained. It was on a street called Happy Valley, which was fitting because it was a really happy place. It was one of the original houses built on the lake. Chris’s grandfather had built it with his bare hands, and Chris’s dad had grown up spending summers at the lake house.

They had two rules at the house: You could have anything you wanted, but you had to get it yourself, and there was no skinny-dipping before ten o’clock at night. It was sweet because this house, which had sort of a main section and then some other newer additions, was a throwback surrounded by other large modern houses that were built later. It sat on a little cove, overlooking the main lake. The streets were eventually all paved, but leading up to the house was a long, straight gravel drive. You could smell the water and hear the ripples lapping up against the dock. I later learned that as I lay there that day, listening to the peaceful sound of the water, Chris was checking me out from the back deck as I caught some sun in my little bikini. I wasn’t trying to taunt him, but I guess I should have known that wearing a red string bikini in front of a guy with a crush wasn’t entirely innocent.

I was still wearing that same bikini when we went out on their boat that afternoon, and that’s when Chris shifted his approach from staring from afar to pursuing me. We were on the boat on the lake, and he let me drive. He sat behind me and helped me steer. I’d never driven a boat before, and it was calming to have him guiding me. It felt protective and sweet. He was getting closer to me than maybe he ever had before, and then he set his hand on my thigh. It wasn’t completely smooth or subtle, but it wasn’t overt, either; he wasn’t rubbing it in a sexual way, but it was for sure not the way a friend would touch another friend. I didn’t know how to react. It was how a boy touched a girl, and I felt panicked. He left his hand on my leg for a long time; that’s how I knew. It was clearly flirtatious, but all new to me.

A couple of weekends later, a group of us went to the lake, including his cousin and some of our other friends. He decided to take me for a walk around the streets in the lake neighborhood, just the two of us, and I remember him holding my hand. It was completely foreign to me, and I was so nervous. I had held a guy’s hand before, but not like this, not so tenderly, and definitely not in a situation like this one that was brewing with feelings. I didn’t know what it meant or what to do about it, other than to simply hold it back. I liked it, I guess. It felt natural and fun to be holding his hand.

I was wearing a bathing suit, board shorts, and a T-shirt. I hadn’t gotten extra dolled up or anything; I was just wearing what I normally wore in the summer. I grew up at the beach, so I was always wearing bikinis. The walk was definitely awkward, but I think I picked up on his motives and panicked just a bit again.

“Everyone we know is in a relationship that sucks, don’t you think?” I blurted out for no reason other than nerves. I was thinking things and just saying them without censoring myself at all.

“I guess,” he said.

“It scares me. I don’t really see many relationships going so well. And then when these people all break up, what’s left? They can’t even be friends anymore. It makes you really think, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said.

This guy had basically taken me on a walk to ask me out, and here I was talking about these horrible relationships and how I was scared of them.

We were nearly ending our walk and almost back at his house when he finally found the courage to ask me the question he’d been saving. We stopped halfway up the driveway, and he asked, “Do you see yourself in a relationship ever?”

I was honest. I said, “Yeah.” That’s it. That’s all I said.

Then he grew a little braver and asked, “Do you see yourself in a relationship with me?” He said it like it was an official question that he’d been working on for a while. He didn’t ask me out exactly, just inquired about our potential future.

I said, “Yes.” I paused for just a second and said, “But I’m really scared.” By then my head was spinning. We continued walking at that point, and my head swirled with fear. We were roommates at college for the summer and we were best friends. I didn’t want to give up either of those things. I kept thinking, What if it doesn’t work out? When we walked around the house on the deck, everyone was hanging out, and I knew we needed more time to talk.

We stole a few more minutes away from the crowd by continuing past them all and slipping onto the back part of the deck for privacy. I tried to explain myself, but I just started talking in circles. I told him I was confused, and he said he could tell. I then took my second “yes” back in a way. I could feel myself breaking his heart, but I couldn’t stop rambling about my fears.

“I don’t know right now. But that doesn’t mean never,” I said. “I’m just scared right now.”

He didn’t say anything. He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I spent the rest of the evening wishing I could take back all of my babbling. What Chris had done, what he had said, was the sweetest gesture ever. But there were so many people around, and I was too afraid of everything happening so quickly.

That night, we actually shared a bed. We didn’t cuddle or do anything at all; the house was so full of people, and it seemed the obvious plan that we would bunk together. All night I thought about what he had said and the kiss on my forehead.

We wound up being separated that next week, so my fear and what he had said just lingered, unresolved. I returned to Greenville, and he went to Raleigh to see his cousin Mike. While Chris was there Mike called and told me that he had a friend that he thought would really hit it off with me, that we would be a good match. Worse, there was another girl at the house with them that Mike wanted to set Chris up with. I thought, I’ve blown it all with Chris.

It was an awful week. I was afraid of moving forward with Chris, but then I was suddenly scared of losing him, too. And I was jealous at the same time, which really surprised me. That was a big realization for me. It didn’t change the terror of being nineteen years old and realizing that maybe I was falling for my future husband, or worrying that I’d fallen for my best friend but would lose both him and his friendship in the end. It was a weird pull, balancing commitment with potential for loss. It was an indescribable tug of war inside of me.

At some point midweek I took Tom aside in his room to help me sort things out in my head. He was also our summer roommate, and so he’d seen the progression of things.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said.

“I think you should just do it, go for it,” he said.

“I know. I’m nervous, though.”

“Chris could be your future husband,” he said. He was half joking, I think.

“Don’t say that. You’re freaking me out!”

“He could be, though,” he said.

“I know. But it scares me.”

Ultimately, when I thought it through, I realized it was almost inevitable we’d at least give it a go and try to be together, mainly because besides fear, I couldn’t make the argument for not being with Chris. He was a perfect guy. He was honest and genuine, we got along, and we both liked the same things—going out, outdoor stuff, and travel. We were both ECU Pirates fans, which was important. We had everything in common, but I had never had a boyfriend, I didn’t know how this was all supposed to work, and I didn’t want the good stuff to end if the romance fizzled.

The bigger fear, of course, was that I’d messed it all up and it was too late. That I’d let this great guy slip on by.