I was conflicted, and I let Henri know that. But he always came back to the same thing: He loved me more than he'd loved anyone, he wanted to be with me more than he'd ever wanted to be with anyone, and there was nothing more to it. When he spoke like that, it was easy for me to reflect on all the good in our relationship too: I had met a man who saw the world as I did, with the same liberal, almost naive view that we could somehow, in our small way, have a positive impact. He encompassed a pure sweetness that I had never encountered in my life; a genuine love for me that I didn't realize I would be lucky enough to experience. He calmed me, evened me out, helped me mature. I loved the person I was when I was with him—and the person he saw when he looked at me. In these moments, I told myself that not marrying this man would be a mistake, and I was done making mistakes.
We were married on May 9, 2014.
People aren't lying when they say marriage changes things. Not long after the wedding, I found myself feeling more responsible for Henri than before, not just emotionally and mentally, but financially too. The "spark" he said I lighted in him, the one that inspired him to promise that he'd pursue his music with greater effort and become a financial partner, fizzled. I worked 10-hour days, while he napped—and I mean that both metaphorically and literally. The agreement that we would live in New York for a year, then Paris for a year never came to fruition. I ended up leaving without him, hoping he would join me. He did, eventually, but only for three months. He slept most of the time.
This wasn't the plan. Before we got married, Henri and I agreed to give each city a year before deciding on our permanent home. But once we were husband and wife, he declared it too hard. Since I could work from anywhere, why didn't I just move to Paris permanently? "Maybe we shouldn't have rushed into this," I said, openly wondering if things would be different had he not asked me to marry him on that beautiful night in Paris, or if I had not said yes. He replied that he regretted nothing and that he wouldn't have waited any longer to propose than he did.
I disagreed. Now I'd even go so far as to say it was a mistake.
My husband and I got engaged at the height of our love. We had not given ourselves time to deal with or even know the parts about each other that come with waiting. We projected onto each other what we wanted to see instead of what was really there. We were two people who inspired each other to want to be all these great things, with a life together that was extraordinary and included bouncing between two of the most iconic cities on earth. But when it came to turning those dreams into reality, we couldn't do it. Not together, at least.
