Robert

I had failed to posit the existence of a partner whose life plans so matched mine. But there he stood, last summer, in my rare moment of availability: loading my family's bags onto the ferry, splicing the outhaul line, asking my advice on where to hang his calisthenics rings in the trees.

He loves backpacking in the mountains, eating healthy homemade food, and has long imagined disappearing somewhere remote (usually Tasmania, as he's Australian). And for years, he's wanted to find someone and center his life around a family.

I didn't know all that when I kissed him; I only knew I was intrigued. But he knew; he'd heard me chatting blithely about my family plans, watched me chopping logs and working through data science papers. So within a couple of days, he let me know.

"Come to London," he said first.

"Let's give it six months," the next day, "to date, and then we can try for a baby."

It doesn't, evidently, have to be complicated. A couple of days later, as we pulled the boat in together, I accepted, with brief provisions: that we work through some form of light couples counseling, that he learn to dance.

"For a baby together, I want to be married," I said.

He nodded. "We can do that."