Two years later, I was sitting on a picnic blanket in Central Park with friends. I was almost done with grad school, had a job waiting for me back in Texas, and was absolutely single. It seemed my fate was sealed, as far as that falling in love in NYC scenario was concerned. And then a guy, a mutual friend of the picnic organizer, came walking towards our blankets. I think a part of me recognized him right away: this is the man I will marry. But that is crazy, right? How could that possibly work?
After our first date, I spent the whole night staring at the bedroom ceiling trying to imagine how this could possibly work. By that point I was certain. It absolutely had to.
When I flew back to Texas by myself at the end of the summer, I cried. But he whispered in my ear: don't worry. I'll be there soon. And he was.
A few months later he left the big city to start a new life with me in Austin. A year later we were married. Almost five years and two kids later, I'm just as certain as I was sitting in Central Park, standing in front of my Upper East Side apartment, and staring at the bedroom ceiling: he is the one.
I wasn't expecting to fall in love in NYC. I wasn't sure how on earth it would work. But I did. And it did. And I couldn't be happier.
-- Laura, from Dirty Diaper Chic
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