Spoiler: I said Yes.

When I moved to Germany for a year to teach music at an international school, I didn’t think I was going to have a robust dating life. Who was I going to date in the little village of Pinneburg, Germany? My family teased me about a fictitious “Hans,” my future German lover, I acknowledged my single fate, and I moved to Germany anyway.

A month in, my job was nothing like I expected, I had no friends, other than some co-workers, my German was coming along as slowly and painfully as my classroom management skills, the speed of both like watching a plastic spoon decompose.

My British friend convinced me to go to a YSA conference in Copenhagen. So after a 5-hour train ride from Hamburg, 1:00 am, sweatpants-clad, hair disheveled, my voice completely lost, I pull into the conference. I sounded like a tired toad. And felt like a tired toad. And standing in a room next to ridiculously good-looking Swedish women, I looked like one too. 

"Averill, this is the German friend I wanted you to meet, Johannes."-My British buddy, introducing me to someone I was sure he’d never mentioned.

"Hi.” I said as cordially as my scratchy throat could squeak out, “Hey, I'm super thirsty, do you know where I can get some water?"

This sweet, cute young boy, smiled and reappeared with a bottle of water in hand.

The next morning, I found him, he being the only other person I “knew” at the conference, and asked for another bottle.

I couldn't remember his name for the life of me, but he kind of kept following me around. I chuckled to myself, even texted my brother, saying, "I'm getting too old. The only guys here are babies, freshly returned missionaries, who still have that naive, optimistic sparkle. The dating world hasn't crushed them into jaded cynics like the rest of us.”

No matter what I did, this guy followed me. I was giving him all the signals to get lost—I looked over his shoulder, clearly scoping the room, I answered his questions with minimal effort, and didn’t return any inquiries about his siblings, I talked about ex-boyfriends. My altruistic release of him to the younger, blonder, European bombshells at the conference, could not have been clearer.  But he didn’t seem to notice, and he stayed by my side like a really attractive puppy.

This boy kept surprising me with his confidence.  At the dance, when a song ended, he simply didn’t break our hold, continuing our conversation through the next song, and the next. He bragged about how good of dancers Germans are. (This becomes funnier later in our relationship, when we took ballroom dance classes, and we learned this is not true.) At the time I was mostly impressed by how bold he was. He tactfully teased me for being the youngest child. He laughed at my pronunciation of the few German words I knew. At one point, I think I said, “Do you know how old I am?” Surely, if he knew, he would no longer be interested in talking to this ancient thing. I think he said, “So… what… exactly?”

I was also impressed when I broke our dance hold to get some water, he came with me, poured and offered me a glass before getting one for himself. His ease at chivalry signaled to me a deep character trait, not just a set of societal expectations he was taught.  (My suspicion that he had deep-seated chivalry would prove true over and over again in a million little things—he always offered me the last bite of a shared pizza, he always helped his mother clean the kitchen, he always asked, genuinely, how he could serve. And the fact that it’s genuine is one of the most attractive things about him).

The people at this conference were from all over Europe. The next closest person to my home in Germany was 5 hours away.  The chances of me meeting someone in DENMARK, who happens to live in the same remote part of the same remote city in GERMANY, is, in retrospect, crazy.

His name is Johannes. (A common nickname for which is, Hans, for those of you following along, my family’s seemingly ridiculous prophecy). I call him Johannes.

He claims that I asked him out the first four times. While historians are still debating this, I do remember wanting to see him again.

After one of our first dates, from my balcony window, I watched him wriggle into his double-parked car from the passenger seat door (because the other side was blocked off). I laughed at his verve for living, and noted how much I wanted to remember that moment because I knew he was going to be important in my life. I still distinctly remember the image—even though it was dark outside, the car was in the middle of a construction site, I was in a haze of exhaustion from work, he was wearing a grey coat climbing into a silver car—it’s as clear as a polaroid in front of my face. This is someone important.

In October, he came with me to look for a new apartment. He picked me up from a particularly awful work event late at night. He read/translated my mail. He helped set up my online bank account. My quality of life in Germany increased 100 proof with him. And he made me smile. He had this optimistic spirit in a place that I had a lot of trouble feeing optimism.  He was very quickly my dearest friend.

When I got home from fall break—2 weeks separated—he helped me move apartments. Recognizing the improbability of us actually getting married, we tried to be “just friends.” But when his long silver car was packed to the brim with boxes, topped with a mattress pad (I’d lovingly placed on a pull-out couch and called it my bed for the previous 3 months), waiting outside my now old apartment. For his huge help in packing and cleaning, I hugged him in gratitude.

He kissed me.

I said, “I missed you.”

We tried to break up that night, but it was more miserable a thought than any miserable thought I could think.

That next morning he messaged me, informing me there was a surprise outside my new apartment. I rose to unlock the front door, expecting a bowl of oranges, and he was standing outside. The handsomest sight I’d ever seen. With his sparkling grin so warm it could melt the icecaps. It was the best surprise ever.

Even though I was older, it was clear that he was leagues more mature in many ways. Over the course of the next few months, he took care of me all the time—He took me to the doctor, the dermatologist, the grocery store, the pharmacy. He cleaned my kitchen repeatedly and made me eat when I would forget, read important German documents, and walked me through important German documents stuff. He talked on the phone for hours with my health insurance company—then later my car insurance company.

Johannes drawing a diagram of the accident for the 5th time.
doesn't it melt your heart??

One time, I got into a small fender bender with a 97-year-old German gentleman named Erwin. We needed his signature and insurance number. Johannes patiently sat down with this fellow, had to repeat himself five times, all without a hint of annoyance in his voice. He was endlessly respectful and kind to this old, confused lad. (Perhaps the hour I fell in love, watching his sweet patience with this old man).

 Johannes sifted through mountains of emails and phone calls to make sure I got my insurance coverage on an accident that may-or-may-not have been my fault.

He saw me sick, and very sick. Made me countless warm cups of tea, masking the icky taste of vitamin C powder he snuck in with honey, assuring I would drink it. When I was over-tired, I’d walk in to a clean-made bed with a candle lit. I was often very very grumpy. And he loved me anyway, always.

Always listening to my bad days, my irrational fears, my concerns, my dilemmas, my child-like tantrums.  He always encouraged me to dream, to have goals, to search for and reach for things I want. He always supported my endeavors, whether it was ballroom dancing, learning German, or making home-made play dough for my classroom children, he was right there with me.

I don’t think I mentioned yet that he’s sexy as hell. Objectively the most attractive human on the planet. Ok, maybe not that objective. But--I mean--just look at him.

stud. engineering a grill in nature. 

 

winning all the old ladies' hearts with his charm.

 This one time, he snuck into my apartment, covered it in roses and rose petals, lit a hundred candles, and when I turned around, he asked me to marry him.

I am so lucky to have this man, this thoughtful, kind, patient, present, generous, loving, smart, funny, hopeful, caring, serviceable, sexy man in my life for the rest of it. And more. He is my lieblings mench, my sunshine in darkness, mein Shatzi, mein Zuckerschnauzen, and I have the amazing opportunity to call him my husband.