There are some moments when everything is ok, and I am perfectly bouyant in my private sea. I float while curled like a question mark into the warm body of my husband, under our pile of down comforters, under our cat, under our star-painted ceiling, under a low, cold sky of January gray, and everything is ok. We were marriage hold-outs for more than a decade--non-believers, non-joiners, damaged, skeptics. And then we did it anyway, in our garden on the day of an epic flood, with the friends and family who could still get there sweating profusely through their nice clothes on the hottest early June day anyone could remember. We had no definitive answer when people asked, "Why now?" He burrows into me, into my happy floating self, a year and a half later on this January night, and says, "I find such comfort in being married to you."