another year of love to celebrate: three. on the fifth of july, two thousand and eight, they were married as the sun broke through the clouds, amidst a country garden, a grape arbor and one hundred family and friends. tears poured down her face for the entire ceremony, as she was overwhelmed with love for him. they committed their hearts to one another for the rest of their lives. on the fifth of july, two thousand and eleven, they celebrated. they celebrated three years of love. she woke up to his touch on her cheek, soft and familiar. he told her that breakfast would be ready shortly. he thoughtfully had her black silk kimono robe waiting to wrap around her shoulders. she followed him into the dining room and saw an elegant table set for two: a vase of white peonies, a vanilla candle burning at the centre, the stove top espresso maker with the aroma of fresh coffee escaping. both ends of the table were set with white china and a cup & saucer balancing a vintage gold espresso spoon, found somewhere in the world by a local artist. she saw a box wrapped in white paper and tied with a cream ribbon bow. a leather tag detail inscribed with 'three' spoke of the three years that they were celebrating, as well as the leather aspect of the third traditional gift of marriage anniversaries. year one, paper, he had gifted her with a copy of love sonnets written by elizabeth barrett browning, printed in the year eighteen ninety six, found in a used bookshop in edinburgh. year two, cotton, he had given her three gorgeous tall branches of soft cotton blossoms, along with the d&s durga perfume 'my indian childhood', an intoxicating, exotic scent that smells of the indian dessert after the rain. she was curious about what year three, leather, would hold. but first, was breakfast. he poured milano la una espresso, topped with vanilla foamed milk. inspired by the city's favorite brunch from medina cafe, he presented her with a plate of organic greens topped with smoked salmon, caramelized onions, rosemary roasted nugget potatoes, applewood aged cheddar and an egg. on the side was a wedge of grilled foccacia, exactly like medina. they savored the salt, the sweet, the smoke. whispers of 'wow' kept escaping her lips. soon, there was a knock on the door, a surprise delivery. she welcomed another bundle of dozens of white peonies, bringing the number of the beautifully intoxicating flowers in their home to forty eight. she remembered the first time he had flowers delivered to her; she was seventeen and so surprised by the massive bouquet of vibrant blossoms. her grandmother knew that one day she would fall in love with the one that had sent such flowers. she could have hardly imagined, then at seventeen, that five years later, she would open the door to an armful of peonies on her third wedding anniversary to that same man, in the home of her dreams, so deeply, deeply in love. smiling from their memories, she unwrapped the cream ribbon bow and the white paper to find a orchre box inscribed with 'michael kors'. she knew immediately she would love anything he had chosen from her favored designer. inside she found the perfect clutch wallet, of course made from leather: blush pink, a silver buckle clasp, buttery soft. the summer sunlight streamed into their apartment. there was a shared hot shower, there was a sundress and a pair of jeweled sandals. they parted ways for a few hours, him to work in gastown, her to be pampered. she sipped peppermint tea and had her scalp massaged at one of the city's premier salons. her hair soaked in a restorative conditioning treatment. she shed a few requisite tears when inches of her long hair fell to the floor, but she would soon come to love the summertime polished collarbone length and the wispy fringe. soon, she found herself in gastown, wandering the streets, taking in the eclectic mix of people, of boutiques. it was early afternoon, he emerged from his office to meet her and to whisk her away to another part of the city. when they had arrived at faubourg, she knew instantly why they had come. on the day that he proposed, they celebrated over afternoon tea at the fairmont. six months later, on their wedding day, they invited their guests to share in an afternoon tea reception beneath grand white tents in a garden. on their first anniversary, he surprised her with a tea date at the luxuriously opulent prestonfield house, just outside edinburgh, where there were peacocks on the lawn and where they reflected on their first year of marriage and set intentions for the year to come. following that year, they sipped tea and savored delicate macarons and champagne truffles at the urban tea merchant, again pondering and planning. she knew that faubourg would be the contemporary and parisian-inspired location of their fifth afternoon tea, a tradition kept. a large wrought-iron chandelier hung above the tea salon. perfectly-brewed tea was poured into their platinum-rimmed china. his, a strong black from marriage freres; for her, a blend of teas with sweet mint. they shared tiny sandwiches of smoked salmon with wasabi cream, of chicken with fresh apple. there were warm dried cherry scones with thick cream; there was a spread of small pastries to sample: a coconut souffle as light as air, dark & rich chocolate mousse, fruit & spice parfait, warm apple cake, a light lemon tart and a slice of opera cake of layered almond sponge. they lingered, pouring cup after cup of tea, tasting each pastry in turn. they talked about the intentions they had set for the years past; they remembered their first year of marriage, the honeymoon, when they had spent a year living in & traveling europe. they remembered the year that they resolved to repay every dollar of student loans, to establish a comfortable emergency fund and to triple their net worth. they remembered the most recent year that had past, a year when they had aimed to establish their careers: just out of university, she would find a path she was passionate about and he would find a position with a start-up with plenty of promise. that year, she fell madly in love with wedding photography and established her own business. he celebrated her successes of nearly one year of business: exceeding their revenue goals, multiplying the average monthly views of her work by ten times, and being featured numerous times in print and online including the renowned style me pretty. he told her, no one will ever know the details of your success the way that i do - i am so proud of you. the same year, he found a dream position with a venture that they believe in, working with a passionate team in a gorgeous historical flat. they looked ahead to their fourth year, eager for the business & travel that they had already planned... they settled on a word to aspire to for the year: 'cultured'. more abstract than the years before, perhaps more delicious. they started to describe 'cultured' as a lifestyle in which they would live in paris, in which they would travel across the mediterranean and asia, in which they would launch a new brand of her business, in which they would refine their aesthetic. they planned to dream of the details in the coming days, weeks, months, so eager to see what they would be reflecting on the following july. after tea, they walked outdoors, in and out of streets, hand in hand. quiet, soaking in the warmth of the sun on their skin. they returned to their apartment where a sweet and cool breeze ruffled the curtains of the bedroom balcony. exhausted from the heat of the summer, they curled up in the white sheets and fell asleep for a little while, two bodies spooned close. when they woke, it was already late in the evening. she pulled on her black cigarette pants and a paper-thin sheer silk blouse designed locally by obakki. she grabbed her new clutch wallet, filled it with coins and pink lipgloss and they headed back to gastown for the night. they settled into a table at chill winston, finding the casual, trendy vibe and the edgy aesthetic exactly what they were looking for. she sipped a cocktail garnished with a rose petal and he had a beer he loves, nutty and oak-aged; they perused the menu and lamented they couldn't taste a little of everything. they started with yam crisps topped with hummus, then a platter of crab cakes made of west coast dungeness crab, topped with smoky corn salsa and horseradish aioli. they also shared the briased bison short ribs: free run, grass-fed bison short rib slow braised in bourbon and molasses, tender and moist. they moved from their table to a couch in the corner where they could sink into the cushions and order a cup of steamed milk with thick froth and one single earl grey infused truffle. an evening of perfect flavours that beckoned them to visit again for the kangaroo carpaccio, for the coconut pakora. they were quiet during the taxi ride home, taking in the day of celebration and reflection. three years; they simply love being married, they couldn't imagine a better life than the one they live together.
