In Bed.

I mean, we were in bed together, but not the sort of "in bed" that would bring your mother to tears, bless her heart.  While some people recognize their fiery passion for each other romping around, shouting curses and praises in the same sentence, I recognized it the moment you said, "Want to just read together for a while?"

What wasted time, some would think, especially after the whirl winded chaos of getting engaged, which causes an explosion of emotions from all angles: you recognize that every female in your life suddenly becomes your best friend and wants to help you with something, either to encourage a wedding invite or bump up to bridesmaid status, while you realize that his parents are soon to become your parents and you start to realize that some day you might explode at his mother for asking for the fifth time if I need anything even though she says it with all the best intentions, and you realize at the same time that your parents are about to be his parents, and, well, that never brings about comforting feelings, does it?

And then there is everybody in between, and they all ask the same question: "What's the date?"  To some I wish to reply, "Why on earth do you care?" but mainly end up awkwardly mumbling something about, "Engaged....it's been... what?  Four days?  Should I know that already?"  Should I have looked down at him, as he was on his knee on an island on the Saint Croix River, brush a mosquito off of his shoulder and say, "Well, yes, I'd like to marry you, but first we need to pick the date, place, wedding party, and colors."

And why is it that everyone seems about 3,000 times more excited than I am actually feeling.  No, I am not unsure about my feelings, but I don't feel like jumping up and down in circles with every acquaintance I bump into in New York & Company.  Does that make me less of a fiance?

So you would think after all of these emotions and comments and everythings about being engaged we would be glued together at the lips because we are obviously very much more in love than the rest of the people in the world who are simply dating.  Or maybe it was because of these overwhelming emotions that caused you to simply say, "Want to just read together for a while?  I know you've been wanting to finish the sixth for a while now."

And that is yet another reason that caused me to realize, yes, I do not need to have minor panic attacks over whether or not this man is right for me because he accepts the fact that I am twenty-one years old and still reading Harry Potter.  I remember the exact place I was sitting when I read Dumbledore's death scene for the first time, and now I remember the second.  The first time I was sitting on the edge of my bed, broke down in tears (partially because it was late into the night, and partially, of course, because Dumbledore just freaking died).  The second time I was sitting in bed, next to you.  You were reading that novel about the monks and the kidnapping, and I was reading about Malfoy having internal conflicts about good versus evil.  The first time I read Dumbledore's death scene, I was so overwhelmed that I skimmed the rest of the novel, because, quite frankly, it is just too much to go on.  The second time I read Dumbledore's death scene, I was so overwhelmed that I skimmed the rest of the novel, because, quite frankly, it was still just too much to go on.  I put my head on your shoulder and sighed.  You looked down at me.  "Dumbledore...he.... " I whined.  You smiled.  "Oh..." you said, in that falsely sympathetic tone.

Which, in most instances in most relationships, would have led to some "Dumbledore-is-dead-let's-make-out-about-it," kissing, especially since we're about to enter one of those long distance relationships that supposedly never works.  That is another question everyone asks.  "Wait," they say, furrowing their brow, "Isn't he moving to New Mexico?"  "Yes," I reply, "But I'll be joining him in a year or so.  And I try not to think about it too much, yet."  "Oooooh..." the person sighs, getting a knowing look of sadness upon their faces, "That's going to be rough."  "Yes," I say, shortly.  "But. I.  Try.  Not.  To.  Think.  About it."  I look at them pointedly.  They do not take the hint.  "I knew this one couple, and it worked for them, but it wasn't easy, let me tell you, she cried, and he...."

And so on.

But even though we are now engaged and apparently about to break up, too, you did not try to get some Dumbledore loving out of me that night; you simply ran your fingers through my hair and asked me how anybody found Harry if he were frozen in the corner under his invisibility cloak the whole time.