Storrs, Connecticut is not exactly where you’d expect a great love story to begin. But alas, for the sake of our story, Storrs is the Floating city of Romance and the City of Lights; the perfect city for the start of a love story.
Austin and I came from what felt like completely different worlds. I was a New York tomboy raised by two older brothers and accustomed to a certain level of noise and chaos. Austin, on the other hand, was a Connecticut kid who looked like he had a five-year plan before freshman orientation. He was a man that had a quiet confidence that made you believe he always knew where he was going—even if he didn’t. And somehow, between the dark “country” roads, dairy farms, and NCAA basketball games, we found each other at the University of Connecticut.
We first met through our university’s co-ed business fraternity. We were “brothers before lovers.” Austin has never been particularly fond of naming our love story that, but facts are facts, folks: we were fraternity brothers first.
After a year of rigorous assignments, questionable networking events, and becoming increasingly comfortable in each other’s company, our friendship formed naturally. And then, one day, Austin decided to make his move and asked me to dinner.
Austin was charming, and blessed with a laugh that could fill a room. So when he asked me out, I responded with the grace and romance one might expect from a young woman in a co-ed fraternity: “Who else is going?”
Austin, apparently undeterred, told me it would just be the two of us. I was blindsided. Was this handsome, deep-dimpled, man who had paid me so little attention during pledging, actually asking me on a date? After all this time, I had apparently been completely oblivious to the fact that our friendship might have been heading somewhere else.
So, naturally, I agreed. Who was I to say no to the pledge class Vice President and Constable of Wolcott, CT? Certainly not a college student who was also very interested in a free meal.
Before long, Austin found himself in Queens, New York at his first “Nuyorican” barbecue, attempting to survive the endless interrogations of titi’s, tio’s, cousins, and one very curious Jeanbart—all wondering who the only white guy in the backyard was.
According to Austin, he passed with flying colors. After eating three pounds of arroz con gandules and successfully making it through the family inquisition, he left convinced he was partially Puerto Rican. Legend has it that he earned the respect of several family members, who eventually knighted him “Austino.”
I remember feeling proud—not just because he survived, but because of how naturally he fit into my home. The people, the noise, the food, the laughter, the chaos—it was a world that had been mine for twenty years, and somehow, Austin found a place in it.
Then it was my turn to prove my worth.
Austin invited me to help him move into his senior-year apartment, apparently believing that my upbringing with two older brothers had prepared me for lifting 80-pound couches. I showed up in my jeans and Vans, expecting to move a few small boxes. To my horror, I discovered we were moving an entire apartment’s worth of large furniture. Just the two of us.
And so, while we were building a new space for Austin, without realizing it, we were also beginning to build something of our own.
Fast forward nine years.
We’ve lived apart. We’ve lived together. We’ve traveled to Tokyo, Montreal, Puerto Rico and countless places in between. We’ve collected stories, inside jokes, and memories in places that once felt completely unfamiliar.
We suffered through each other’s law degrees and master’s degrees. We supported each other through long nights, stressful days, big decisions, and moments when neither of us were sure what came next. And somehow, even in those uncomfortable spaces, we found home.
Looking back, we realize we were building a home long before we ever talked about sharing one.
We challenged each other. We celebrated each other. We pushed each other towards bigger dreams. We learned how to make room for each other’s families, traditions, ambitions, and quirks. We learned that home isn’t necessarily four walls, a city, or a place you grew up.
Home was never New York or Connecticut.
It was never a dorm room or an apartment.
Home was a backyard filled with family and arroz con gandules. It was a UConn apartment filled with furniture we probably should have hired someone else to move. It was an airport before another adventure. It was a kitchen after a long day. It was non-stop laughter until neither of us could remember what was funny in the first place.
And through every adventure, every challenge, every degree, every move, and every laugh, one thing has remained the same… Wherever life took us, we were home. Because home was never a place. Home was us.
And Austin, if you made it this far, you are my home and I am yours.