By Courtney Jane Walker | Photograph by Jo-Anne McArthur
In the early weeks of 2005, I attended a tsunami relief fundraiser at a vegetarian co-op in the Annex, where I met a cute guy named Andrew wearing hemp necklaces and a Burton Cummings T-shirt. Andrew and I both left with other people, but we ran into each other a few months later and fell into conversation like old friends, talking for hours on the sidewalk. We were both still in undergrad at U of T when we started dating, and it got serious fast. After just a few months, we moved in together, occupying a bedroom in a shared house on Borden Street that should have been condemned, especially given the size and frequency of our parties. We weren’t thinking about marriage, and that was fine by me. But I knew early on that I wanted to hang on to this guy who always called me when he said he would and loved to travel as much as I did and tolerated my incessant renditions of scenes from Les Miz. We fell into a natural rhythm and time flew by, as it does when you find someone who fits. We graduated from university, acquired a couple of cats and abandoned our Annex slum for a cozy one-bedroom in Cabbagetown. Before we knew it, we were grown-ups—kind of.