Chapter 16: Relationship Formalities - More than just friends

By July of 1993, Lynn and I had been together for nearly a year. At the time, I wasn’t thinking about labels or formalities—I was simply happy. It’s only now, as I look back, that I realize something remarkable: we had never actually said it out loud.

We hadn’t defined anything. We hadn’t needed to.

We saw each other almost every day. We kissed with affection and intensity. Our closeness, our connection, our status as a couple was obvious to everyone around us. My friends, the people at open mic nights, even Dusty the emcee, all spoke about us like we were a couple. And I never questioned that.

I hadn’t wondered whether we were exclusive—it simply was. In fact, I hadn’t even thought about asking. If anything, I assumed Lynn knew. Her willingness to share such intimate moments—physically, emotionally - told me she would never have offered that kind of closeness if she thought I might be seeing someone else.

But on a warm Sunday evening—July 11, 1993—something shifted. Not in our feelings, but in how we named them.

We were outside on the grass in the fading twilight, just far enough from the sliding glass doors to have privacy. We moved together without hesitation, our bodies speaking a language we had learned slowly, instinctively. Our arms wrapped around each other. Our mouths met—open, warm, and eager. Passion flowed between us as naturally as breath. Our hands slid beneath shirts, not searching, but answering what had already been spoken between us.

We were just close enough to hear the muffled sounds of the TV and my roommates talking inside. The air was warm, and the connection between us was both strong and comfortable as the darkness grew and we decided to sit on the chairs that were outside. My hand on her leg. Her smile as she looked at me was such a joy to experience.

Then she asked a question that needed to be clarified, “Are we more than friends? Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”

There was no nervousness in her voice. No hesitation. Just clarity—like she already knew the answer, but asking made it real.

I hadn’t expected the question—not because I was unsure of us, but because I already saw her as mine, and myself as hers. Her question was a formality, but it was one that thrilled me.

“Yes, definitely,” I said. I started to add, “I kind of thought what we were doing just now made that obvious,” but caught myself—I didn’t want to take her words for granted. This mattered.

I felt a slight twinge of nervousness—just the faintest flicker of doubt about what she might say.

“Is that what you want too?”

“Yes,” she said.

I stared at her, moved by the clarity in her voice, the simplicity of her answer.

“Wow,” I said softly.

Then again, with a breath of wonder and a glance up at the sky, “Wow.”

And in that pause—where joy met relief, where hope finally felt safe—something inside me broke open. The words rose before I could catch them, bursting out like they had been waiting all along.

“I love you,” I said, the words escaping with a rush of joy, certainty, and awe.

Her smile deepened, and her eyes lit up. “I love you, too.”

The words were simple. But they settled into me like something sacred.

But what still amazes me is this: Lynn was the one who brought it up!

When we walked inside, hand in hand, I couldn’t wait to share the moment. Not just because of what it meant for Lynn and me—but because someone else would be happy for me. That was new.

“My roommates are going to love this,” I said. “They’re going to be so happy for us.”

I didn’t say the rest out loud: Unlike my parents, who never seemed to notice-or care-if I was happy at all.

Donna looked up from the couch as we stepped into the room. “Hi.”

“I have something to share,” I said. “Lynn is my girlfriend. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.”

Donna smiled knowingly. “Yes… and?”

There was a pause. A playful one. As if they were both waiting for the punchline.

Terri raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Wait—this is the first time you’ve said that?”

“Yeah… we just now made it official,” I replied, sheepishly.

They both beamed at us—genuinely, warmly. And in that moment, I felt something I’d rarely known before: joy, reflected back to me. Two people, happy for me—with no conditions, no expectations, just happiness. I didn’t have to explain it. I didn’t have to earn it. They just… were.

I mentioned, almost as a confession, how I hadn’t been sure in the beginning—those first few weeks—whether Lynn felt the same way I did.

Lynn laughed and said, “Luckily, Bruce was persistent.”

I grinned, because it was true. And somehow, that made this moment even sweeter. Not because I had to chase her, but because she had allowed herself to be caught. Because what we had now—this connection—was real, and mutual, and rooted in something we both chose.

From that moment forward, I wasn’t shy around Lynn anymore—not about who we were, or what we meant to each other. The connection had already been there. But now it had a name.

We were an us.

Looking back now, I can see what made this moment so powerful had nothing to do with the words we exchanged and everything to do with what they represented: a life I didn’t know I was allowed to want. A love that didn’t ask me to prove myself. People who didn’t need me to hide or explain or earn their joy on my behalf.

Lynn didn’t just say yes to being my girlfriend—she gave me a place where I could belong. And for someone who had spent a lifetime waiting to be wanted… that “yes” changed everything.

And just as she embraced who I was, I began to see more of who she was—not just the woman who loved me, but an artist, a creator, someone with her own world of expression waiting to be shared.

I didn’t want a love story that was only about me. I wanted to love her fully—for everything she was. And in the chapters that followed, I would begin to do just that.