Just like God, and book reading, and carb-eating.
But we all know they never went away.
So I laugh when people squirm after they learn I write romantic suspense.
“Inconsequential!” are the comments I hear (or the sneers I detect).
I am unfazed.
But still, I’m encouraged when I read articles like a recent Time Q&A piece on Nancy Myers, the writer/director of the new movie The Intern (starring Robert DeNiro and Ann Hathaway), in which Myers addresses the state of romance.*
The interviewer asks her: “You’ve done a lot of rom-coms. . . but there are always headlines, THE ROM-COM IS DEAD.”
Myer’s answer is delicious: “I’ve noticed all my life if I ask, ‘How did you two meet?’ the whole table turns and listens. Everyone’s interested in relationships.”
Bingo. We humans love romance: dreaming/fantasizing about it, searching for it, and if we’re lucky, living it.
So, let’s share our “How did you meet” stories.
I met my guy at exactly the point in which I promised myself to never date again. Ever.
My friend (and former college roommate) took me for a weekend escape to Mystic Seaport, CT. I didn’t wonder why she chose that destination. I just looked forward to a beautiful fall road trip and some fun girlfriend time.
Suddenly, she took a wrong exit.
“Stop! Why’d you turn here?” I asked.
“Forgot to tell you, I have an important packet to deliver to a work client. He’s just 30 minutes from Mystic – easy drop off.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “You know I told you to never ever again try and ‘hook’ me up with one of your work friends.”
“I know,” she said as innocent as an angel.
We drove up to a condo development. She made me go to the front door with her and admonished me to “be friendly” as she knocked.
The door opened.
Not physically, but when our eyes met – the business client’s and mine – we both later admitted that we felt like we’d been hit with a 25-pound feather.
Within the next hour, my friend suddenly got sick and raced upstairs to the client’s guest room, never to reappear until the next morning.
The man and I talked, walked, popped popcorn and talked more, checked on my friend (sound asleep with a smile on her face), walked under the moonlight, and talked til dawn.
We’ve never missed a daily conversation since, whether by phone or under the sheets, in the kitchen or on vacation, at a grandbaby’s baptism or at home on a snowy day.
Romance is alive.
As is my girlfriend, who’s worn a smirk for 31 years.
(*TIME. Dockterman, Eliana; October 5, 2015, page 64.)