I never get tired of my new last name. It’s great.
I love the way it sounds, the way it’s spelled, the way it fits with my first name.
Most of all, I love that it’s his.
That he gave it to me.
On our second date we walked into a restaurant and had to give a name so they could call us when our table was ready. He gave his last name. I recall thinking that could be my last name one day.
Now it is.
Now it’s the name I give when I’m waiting for a table.
It’s the name I sign on the bottom of my pottery.
It’s the name our babies will have.
The name I’ll live with until I die.
It’s a good name, and I’m honored and happy and still excited that it’s mine.