“Everything happens for a reason” floats like dandelion seeds on the lips of well-meaning strangers. I’ve nodded at it, repeated it even, but never really felt it bloom inside me until now. Perhaps Aristotle and the universe knew, and I was just catching up.

When I left the classroom behind, the St. Louis Public Library unexpectedly claimed me for a library management job. Simultaneously, as if choreographed by some cosmic hand, the University of Illinois’ Library and Information Science graduate program opened its doors. The universe seemed to be singing to me, so I sang back.

Weeks into my library metamorphosis, our mutual friend Amanda promised me the ritual of introduction–an administrative tour followed by lunch confessional. But illness stole her away that day, and Maryann walked in instead. I’ll never forget the date: April 14, 2023, and how Maryann’s unrestrained smile created a gravity I couldn’t resist (cue “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift).

I texted Amanda afterward:

Working at our downtown mini-branch, the infamous Central Express, became my excuse-machine for lunches with Amanda and our friend Mary (“Madge” to those who know her heart). Madge, my childhood neighbor-turned-lifelong-confidante, keeper of my secrets since we shelved books together at Edwardsville Public Library through our formative years. I poured my Maryann fascination into Madge’s ear, and she, understanding the architecture of my heart, began orchestrating “coincidental” lunch gatherings where Maryann might appear. And Maryann did.

Then, summer arrived with its particular St. Louis shimmer, and I found myself with a spare concert ticket. I extended the invitation to our triumvirate and watched as Amanda and Madge evaporated with “other plans”, leaving only Maryann. We met at Off Broadway for a night of very sad and slow music, which prompted a group chat buzzing with performance updates and a separate channel to Madge with more urgent bulletins: “I think SHE’S GAY… She’s being flirty!!!”

After that night, our sacred trinity formed – Maryann, Madge, and me in a group chat that excluded Amanda partly for her sanity. We trafficked primarily in Taylor Swift theories, music revelations, and elaborate schemes that eventually manifested as TaylorCon, our library shrine of a program for Taylor Swift’s birthday. From there, our sacred trinity escalated. One evening, as Maryann and I spiraled through messages, each one more charged than the last, I asked Madge, in a separate text, how she felt to witness our orbit tightening. “Like a chaperone,” she jokingly replied. Madge’s “chaperone” title would crystallize into legend.

Life accelerated through a montage of shared moments: sweat-baptized at the St. Louis SC game, Cardinals baseball unfolding before us, drag queens blessing my 34th birthday, and work collaborations that felt like dances. Then my Uncle Jimmy’s wedding invitation arrived, bearing those magical words: “Plus One.” Despite all signs pointing at Maryann, my brain remained stubbornly skeptical that she might reciprocate my feelings. Still, I cast the invitation into our group chat, and Maryann accepted. Madge, our patron saint of romantic intervention, conveniently remembered prior commitments.

The wedding night transfigured everything. Not merely because Maryann charmed every Mudge family member like she’d been rehearsing for years, but because on the drive home, she confessed her feelings existed beyond friendship. I stammered my truth with artless delivery, assuming I’d ruined my chance with Maryann, but five days later at The Hawthorn, surrounded by Taylor Swift fans, our first kiss arrived.

I’ve learned that timing isn’t precise, but it’s somehow always right. There was no thunderclap moment of knowing Maryann was “the one” – instead, a quiet certainty that grew until it filled every corner of my heart and consciousness. Months into our tandem journey, I realized no other presence could possibly occupy the Maryann-shaped space in my universe. She felt like the answer to a question I’d been asking my whole life. Whether orchestrated by fate’s elaborate machinery or beautiful cosmic accident, I find myself here, with Maryann, precisely on time.

blah blah blah girl power