I met him on a trip to Canada to visit cousins who had just visited me while on their honeymoon.
Steve was their best friend and they set us up on a double-date. He was good looking and funny and we hung out every day that week.
Two months later, he came down to see me and my parents were over the moon. You see, Steve, like myself, was Jewish, and I had been rebelling about dating Jewish guys for a while. So to have one appear at my door and stay at my house — yes, my parents were over the moon!
My mother went so far as to take me to a jewellery store, just in case he proposed, to get my ring size. And I got caught up in falling in love. But what I discovered later was that I fell in love with the idea of getting married. Not with the guy.
When I think back, I don’t even remember getting engaged. What girl forgets that? But we did and I moved to Montreal for nine months. He wanted to move to the U.S.right away, but because of immigration rules, was not allowed back into the country until two months before the wedding.
So I went back to “visit” for two weeks, the limit imposed by Canada at the time, and just stayed.
The next few months were filled with engagement parties with his family and wedding planning from afar. I got homesick and flew back to Florida in February to finalise the plans. After we ordered the invitations, my dad told me, “Well, those are paid for, no turning back now.” I was sure the feeling in the bottom of my stomach was just nerves, and hopefully excitement.