Chapter Five
Before
After that first meeting, Ali and I decided to have lunch the following weekend. That date went on for hours, melting into dinner. The weekend after that, we drove out to Skyline Drive to see the changing of the leaves.
We walked on a trail for a couple of miles before settling on a rock with a view of the mountain range and national forest. The weather was crisp, the fall foliage an explosion of bright reds, earthy browns, and vibrant oranges.
Our conversation flowed. We were discovering that we liked, in broad strokes, the same things—reading, traveling, and trying new restaurants. He was also a movie buff. It was one of those rare perfect days that sticks in your memory.
“One day,” he said, looking out, “I want to bring my kids hiking here.”
Ali loved the outdoors. That was one area where we diverged.
I wasn’t a fan of bugs or getting too dirty or sweaty outside of the gym.
My hair frizzed and my cheeks got too red.
But I was ready to change my ways for this enigmatic man with gentle eyes and a deep, quiet laugh.
Fortunately, I quickly came to look forward to the hikes—they were like a meditation—and I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
After we had children, weekend hikes became a family ritual.
Ali would pull up a map and select a new place to explore.
We’d walk along the water at Ball’s Bluff and Ali would tell the kids about the Civil War battle that had raged there.
Or we’d reach the top of Sugarloaf Mountain and Ali would say, “Look at that view! Was that worth the effort or what?”
But then the kids got older and sports and school obligations got in the way. Once Ayla and Adam learned to drive, it was all over, except for the reluctant special exception for Mother’s or Father’s Day, or a birthday—one of ours, never theirs.
The pieces of family life loosened and fell away until one day, years later, we wondered how treasured family rituals faded without a proper send-off.
“Why did we stop doing the family hikes?” Ali asked one Saturday morning when Ayla and Adam were in high school. He drank his coffee while scrolling through the news feed on his mobile. The kids were asleep upstairs and wouldn’t emerge before noon.
I stood to get a second cup of coffee. “Your children got better offers.”
The family hikes eventually reverted back to couple outings, just Ali and me again. Like in the beginning.
As we made our way back to the car on that first visit to Skyline Drive, Ali paused after opening my door for me. He did that throughout our entire marriage. Always a gentleman when most men in our generation had forgotten about such things. Or never learned them.
Ali leaned in and gave me the slightest kiss; it was like a feather, just the faint brush of his lips against mine. But it was enough for lightning to flash through me.
“I just wanted to check.”
“Check what?” I asked, my body still pulsing from the thrill of his kiss.
“I enjoy spending time with you. You’re easy to talk to.” He smiled. “I wondered if the chemistry was there too.”
“And?”
“Wow,” he responded. “Just wow.”
“And how,” I added breathlessly.
He laughed a little, looking at me with eyes that glittered with appreciation. “You’re a surprise.”
Up until that point, I definitely had a crush on Ali.
I think I fell in love with him that afternoon.
The memories of those early days, of that first kiss on Skyline Drive, have a shimmer to them, as if my mind dusted them with golden glitter.
The excitement of connection, of undeniable physical attraction, of the idea that this man might be my forever person, was powerful.
And I was happily intoxicated by it.