Reposted from: http://www.cafe.com/r/fcc5c057-1b88-4e2c-8652-0423ce3b30a0/1/i-took-lori-gottliebs-advice-to-marry-him-this-is-what-happened
By Leigh Anderson
n the run-up to our wedding, Andy said, Well, we can always get divorced. And I nodded, like we were talking about ordering a risky entrée at lunch—we can always send it back. The marriage proposal, the result of an ultimatum, was the grimmest one in the history of the institution. The wife after Anne Boleyn was more psyched for her marriage than I was.
Don’t get me wrong—Andy was a great guy. Here’s how great he was:
When my mother was diagnosed with stage three colon cancer, Andy, a nervous driver, rented a car and piloted it through the Holland Tunnel, across 78 and down 81 to West Virginia. He drove to the pharmacy and picked up prescriptions, he ferried us to chemo and bought chicken dinners at the Food Lion. My parents, at that point, were living in a post office (perhaps the subject for another story); he accepted this without comment, perching on a stack of Company Store catalogs behind the wall of mailboxes, forking yams into his mouth. Occasionally a postal customer, retrieving their mail, would peer through the box at Andy on the other side; he’d wave his fork at them.
When my mother had finished the worst of her treatment, Andy and I drove to West Virginia in a rented RV, because there was no room for us to stay in the post office. Some friends came along for a Memorial Day pig roast, at which Andy did not have a particularly good time: He’s a New Yorker, an insomniac; he wants to eat Thai food and see movies at the Film Forum. Pig roasts in West Virginia, camping, even camping in an RV—no.
© flickr/Dougtone
Get Connected