Ah, Steve’s only one-night stand, which gave him an incredibly false reputation as a “player” in our intensely nerdy quant fund. https://twitter.com/amy_heidman/status/1310665028194897920

Steve had a hard time meeting women, going so far as to attend a Singles Tango Class, and humans have needs, so one night he asked a lady back to his horrible studio apartment in Hoboken which had a futon, a clean clothes pile, and a dirty clothes pile.

And, as previously established, plastic takeout cutlery he dishwashed and used, and one plate.

They engaged in the act of love. The next morning, Steve explained he was about to go on a very long business trip (he implied it was like six months, or something) but would call her when he got back, then he walked her to the PATH train and went into work, with his travel case.

At the time, his group all worked together in a bullpen, facing inwards, and a colleague asked Steve if he could see his new blah blah tech set-up and Steve idly gestured towards the travel case (it was a duffle bag.)

The colleague unzipped it, made a very amazing noise, and pulled out a pair of women’s underwear and a salacious note about their night together and her interest in seeing him again when he returned from the Six Years War, or whatever.

Steve apparently turned as white as a ghost from embarrassment but the reputation STUCK. He was a rollin’ stone! A ladies’ man! Loves them and leaves them! So good women give him their underwear, but he can’t be tied down so he lies about the length of work trips! Etc.

This reputation, again, completely unwarranted, was still going strong when I started working there in 2005. The man is a classic serial monogamist with great difficulty speaking to men OR women but to the nerds, he was a Chad.

When we started dating, following him making an incredibly autistic and romantic speech that is probably still on here somewhere, I asked him about his notorious status as This Guy Fucks. He explained about the underwear. I had more questions.

They included:

Q: Was the underwear used or did she pack a second pair to plant somewhere on your person?
A: I don’t know, I threw it out.

Q: What did she do for a living?
A: ...
Q: Answer me.
A: She was a kindergarten teacher.

That lady is awesome.

Okay the autistically romantic speech he has been coasting on the strength of for the last 12 years has been eaten by my auto-delete, but before I tell you, it’s gonna blow your mind and heart.

So, we had been hanging out “as friends” for a few months. My body yearned for him. We took platonic 1-day ski trips which involved multiple hours both ways on the NJ Turnpike. He had SAID “I’m interested in getting to know you...as a friend” so I thought he wasn’t into me.

It was agony. Like, Jane Austen agony. I still put on my very best game but I knew I could love only him and if I failed to win his heart I would probably die.

(I actually had a great date w a fun lady in this time period so I wasn’t THAT close to dying.)

Then, one day, he emailed me and said “I’m going to the Alps for two weeks. Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

Reader, I said “yes.”

We started eating dinner, my body was literally shaking, an EMT would have thrown a metallic blanket on me.

Steve put his fork down and said “Maybe it would be good to talk about what we’re...doing...here.”

I said “I would very much like to talk about that.”

THEN: “It seems to me that the conversations I have with you are better than any conversations I have ever had with anyone else. So, if you feel the same way, I think we should become very seriously involved and probably get married. Or stop hanging out, if you don’t.”

Then I VERY loudly semi-shrieked “THE FIRST ONE” and we finished our meal, did not even kiss, and he left for the Alps.

Obviously I assumed he would die in the Alps and this would be the great tragedy of my life. He did not die in the Alps.

Then the day he got back from the Alps he emailed me to say “do you want to see 300 tonight at the movies, and then help me walk my dog?”

I had thought “walk my dog” was a euphemism, but in fact did find myself walking a very dubious dog around Hoboken with him.

Then we took the elevator up to his floor, and started frantically tearing each other’s clothes off as the doors began to open and were absolutely having sex by the time we got to his apartment.

The next morning I texted a large number of my friends to tell them “there’s NOTHING wrong with his dick” bc I had expected there would be a catch and was absolutely willing to work around most dick oddities.

My mom also got this text.

OH, additional cute detail, after the sex it was like 2am and I asked if I could sleep over instead of putting on my slutty clothes and walking to the PATH train and he said “I have cleared out this drawer for you, and also the right-hand side of the sink.”

So we adopted a kitten, got married and had three kids, and it all started in this apartment due to my uncontrollable desire for him (he had not yet blown out his knee when we were banging in the elevator NOR was it the cause.)

And he has never once commented on my increasingly weird and extravagant giving to causes/people he has no awareness of other than to gently say once that if I DID have any receipts for them, I should keep them.

(He gives to a Tibetan program that trains local doctors to do cataract surgeries bc the altitude causes a lot of eye issues. I make spite donations to RAINN in Katie Roiphe’s name.)

Anyway, I feel very lucky every day, even though he makes pun-based jokes and is insufferably vain and is a Late For Flights Person.