I'm His First, Third, and Last Wife

Kevin and I met in college. I saw him from across a crowded cafeteria, during the third week of school. My friends recall hearing me say, “Someday I’m going to marry that guy.” Little did I know I’d marry him twice.

The following January, we met in a lineup for a school pub night. It was my birthday, and I was alone, as my then-boyfriend had reneged on our date. Kevin was on his own, having been dumped by his friends who were planning to join him.

I was an avid reader; he was reading a Canadian literature classic that I had enjoyed. Easy conversation starter, I thought. Until he said, “Oh this? I have to read it for English class.” And made a face indicating it was a chore.

Despite the fact he wasn’t ‘my’ kind of intellectual standout, he was very friendly, conversation was easy, and after hanging out together all evening, we realized we had a lot in common. He drove me home, and asked if I’d like to go to a movie the next night. I said yes, but told him I had a boyfriend.

Next night, we enjoyed the movie, but when he dropped me at home, I reiterated that I had a boyfriend and that I couldn’t see him again.

Flash forward two months. My ex-boyfriend and I had broken up. Kevin invited me to his birthday party. I was out of town and wouldn’t be back until the day after. Cleverly, Kevin negotiated my help with the post-party cleanup in exchange for a home-cooked meal. As a starving student, both my brain and my stomach thought this was a good deal!

We dated for six months before we were engaged. As we were both still in school (and after our first year I moved away to attend another college) we decided to wait to get married. We’d planned to marry in 1985, but a devastating tornado came through town and I was injured in its wake. It also destroyed our reception venue! As a result, we married a year later, in 1986.

In our first three years (our only three years!) we moved several times. Each move put more strain on our marriage, and we became increasingly ill-equipped to support ourselves, let alone each other. We alternated between savage arguments and cold silence. In 1989, I moved out and before the end of that year, we were divorced.

We neither saw nor spoke to each other, except for a sheepish and sad acknowledgment at Kevin’s father’s funeral in 1991. By that time, Kevin had remarried and I was in what turned out to be a long-term relationship.

Flash forward, this time to May 1994. I worked longer hours than I needed to, because my live-in relationship was eroding—my long-term boyfriend had announced he was leaving me. On my own again, I left work one night and walked in to a local deli to pick up dinner.

I stopped in my tracks. A familiar face behind the counter, in a context that made no sense to me, was my ex-husband Kevin! We stared at each other for what felt like minutes, and I remember it felt like the world around us stopped. I had heard that his marriage was on the rocks, and I saw him with new eyes that evening—we’d both been through destructive relationships subsequent to our own marriage, and yet, here we were, standing three feet from each other. The years and disappointments melted away. I wondered how he felt and what he saw when he looked back at me!

His handsome face broke into a grin; I smiled as tears sprung from my eyes. “Hi…” he ventured. “Oh, my goodness, hello!” I replied. He walked out from behind the counter and put his arms around me. That hug, I’d missed it. I felt like I’d come home.

Turns out he was helping his friend start up a deli franchise, and most evenings he was working in the store five short blocks from my office. We lived in a city of four million people, and we had been this close without knowing!

We made plans to have a drink after work the next evening, and we talked for hours. Lots of venting and complaining and getting to know each other all over again. We were comfortable and relaxed; no pressure, just two old friends who’d grown up a lot since they last met.

Over the next few months, we saw each other frequently, but only as friends. We realized we really ‘liked’ each other, but neither of us wanted anything other than friendship. Upon visiting my apartment for the first time, Kevin was welcomed by our kitty BC, over whom we battled for custody when we split. They were both thrilled!

In December, Kevin went to Montreal on business. He called me while he was away. When I told my friend Elizabeth about the call, she teasingly laughed, “Oh, he wants to be more than friends!”

Christmas came and went, and New Year’s Eve was on the horizon. My plans had fallen through, and Kevin invited me to a local blues bar where we could meet up with our (and subsequently, his) old college friends.

We had a blast. But then, midnight. Everyone in the bar stood up and shouted, “Happy New Year!” in unison. Kevin and I looked at each other—we hadn’t kissed each other in years—and that was it! I think that’s when we became a couple again!

Over the next month or so, we hesitantly told our friends and families. After the initial puzzlement, they all congratulated us. But we were cautious as well; we each went to counselling, individually and as a couple. We realized this was a second chance and we wanted to do things right.

In December 1999, we married—well, technically, we ‘remarried’—at Toronto City Hall with our closest friends and immediate family in attendance. The public square and its gigantic Christmas tree sparkled and twinkled with festivity, as did we.

In the 22 years since we spoke our hand-written vows, we’ve been through a lot—parents passing, jobs lost, a brain injury—and we lost our first house together to fire weeks before we were ready to move in. We’ve supported each other through new jobs, promotions, earning degrees and professional certifications. We’ve had exotic adventures, from desert-trekking in India to diving the world’s best reefs. In 2012, we ran five half-marathons together, across the United States and Canada. We’ve struggled and thrived together.

I still recall that day back in 1981, when from across a crowded cafeteria, I first saw my first and second husband. “Someday I’m going to marry that guy. Twice.” Little did he know that I’d end up, as he calls me, “his first, third and last wife”.