I’ve written about The Designated One, now onto The One. The One I couldn’t have done The Shitshow without. We met at work. A scouser, we flirted over footy. He was engaged, I was complicated. Our first kiss was at my leaving do in ’97. “You’re engaged” I said and pushed him away. He wasn’t anymore, but he thought it’d sound like a line so didn’t tell me. I flew off to Australia for 12 months. I’d call him collect and we’d talk for hours; then he moved to the States. Back in the UK I got more complicated. We reconnected over AOL IM. He invited me over for a holiday He’d stocked up on Moet, Jim and Bud. He proposed to me in the shower. I said yes. We dated across the pond for 8 months. Sexting on a dumbphone was hard work. 3 weeks after he moved back to Blighty we married in Kingston (upon Thames) Town with three best women. Then we called our family and friends to tell them. We celebrated with champagne in the sun at the pub by the duck pond and fish n chips on the way home. It was 4 years to the day since the pushed-away kiss. We said we’d be like Linda and Paul and never spend a night apart. 5 days into our home-moon he flew to Dortmund for the UEFA Cup Final. He’s the smartest, kindest, genuinest person I know. Silly too. He’ll easily chat about string theory, Wittgenstein or neurodiversity. He’ll just as easily jump into a pretend car with me to try and get served at a Drive Thru Maccie Ds (they didn’t fall for it - not even when we rolled down the “window”). But for the life of him he can’t seem to put away the dishes after he’s taken them out of the dishwasher. Can’t have it all, I guess. 6 years ago he emigrated to the other side of the world without hesitation so that I could do my Masters. We’ve been through love, death and cancer together. This week I started to unravel. He was out of the country but I anchored myself to the thought of him. We will always be entangled, me and him: I am him and he is me. Quantumly.