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From tales of couples more in love than ever in lockdown to others torn apart, from the highs and lows of virtual dating to all the exes sliding into your DMs: Love in the Time of COVID-19, a new series from BAZAAR.com, will explore coupling (and uncoupling) in the age of the global pandemic. Expect real stories, relationship advice, and much-needed tropes and takeaways—all from the editors who’ve brought you invaluable stories on sex, emotional labor, attachment theory, and lots of love via BAZAAR Bride.
For our first date, Romain and I went for drinks at a wine bar in the West Village. I’d met him on Hinge a few weeks prior and was unsure what to expect. He’s French, so the brief answers on his profile, while charming, were mostly written in choppy English. Only one of his photos showed his full face—a red flag, if you’ve ever had to navigate the mysterious world of online dating. Still, his Cheshire grin clinched it for me.
He arrived wearing a silver leather jacket and black brimmed hat, his knuckles glinting with rings. His resemblance to a young Mick Jagger was so uncanny that I expected a gaggle of beautiful groupies to pop around the corner and run screaming to his side at any moment. Despite being hungover from his office holiday party the night before—he’d admitted it sheepishly right off the bat—he was so upbeat and exuded such charisma that our server gave us two bottles of very nice red wine at a massively discounted price. “Hah,” I thought to myself. “Good luck with this one!”
That first date was a little less than four months ago. Now, Romain and I are not only still dating, but we’re quarantining together in North Carolina—in a town with a total population of 576 people. One of those people is my dad, and the three of us are isolating together in his one-story house.
Courtesy of Ariana Marsh
We’ve been here for around six weeks, which means nearly half of our relationship has unfolded under what, for us, are pretty abnormal circumstances. It goes without saying that we feel extremely lucky to have been able to leave New York City for a county with zero confirmed cases of coronavirus and lots of mountainous greenspace to explore. We’re also grateful to have had someone like my dad, who was willing to share his home, personal space, and daily routine with us. But moving in together, attempting to keep up the momentum of a new relationship under constant parental oversight at the age of 28, and doing so during especially stressful, uncertain, and strange times? It’s the definition of a make-or-break moment, week, month, or months on end.
From the beginning, our relationship has been fast-tracked. We exchanged “I love you’s” after a month, discussed whether or not I’d move to Hong Kong with him if his work took him there soon after (I said probably), and spent the majority of our free time together cooking, eating, drinking, dancing, (pillow) talking, and dueling with chopstick wands. We’d built a solid enough emotional foundation to be confident in our commitment to one another and had already surpassed the insecurities that come with budding a partnership. Making the decision to shelter in place together was easy.
Largely, things have been great. I’ve never woken up to a partner for more than seven days in a row before quarantine, and I’ve found immense comfort and joy in doing so. It’s been heartwarming to see Romain bond with my dad and entertaining to watch my father try to decipher his not-so-subtle accent. We’ve hiked, biked, played basketball, and cooked incredible meals; we've (safely) spent time with my sister, her husband, and their two daughters, who also live nearby. My family loves Romain, and I’ve loved spending time with him outside our typical bar-and-restaurant routine in New York City. I can’t imagine him not being here.
With that said, moving in with someone (in my dad's house) comes with growing pains. Apparently, my boyfriend has a tendency to amass water cups on his bedside table and leave dirty clothes all over the floor; I (apparently) have a tendency to make a slightly passive-aggressive show of cleaning up said water cups and clothes until he offers to do it himself. Typical road bumps have arisen that we’ve had to work through, as they do for all couples. But most couples get to enjoy the sweet, romantic notes of a new relationship, experience their honeymoon phase, transition into a comfort zone, and get to learn each other’s nuances, moods, tendencies, and more before moving in together—let alone meeting each other’s parents. We may have skipped a couple of those steps.
What’s been less typical is the lack of privacy we have living with a parent (sneaking in moments of intimacy makes us feel like we’re 17 again), as well as the emotional volatility that the coronavirus has brought out, especially in me. I have been fortunate enough to remain employed through the pandemic, and all of my family and friends are in good health. But I’m still feeling irrationally sensitive and, at times, anxious. I find myself getting annoyed with my dad and lashing out childishly, leaving Romain to try and awkwardly smooth things out. I sometimes wake up wanting to cry for no reason; I’ve been overreacting to small things in disproportionate ways, and then feeling guilty about it.
One night, Romain didn’t want to join in on a preplanned virtual dance party with my friends and I got (what I now have determined was) irrationally upset, acting as if he’d just bailed on someone’s 30th birthday party at the last possible moment. I quickly realized how dramatic I was being, apologized, and changed course, but I couldn’t understand why I had put so much weight on his attendance at a Zoom party. I felt better only the next day, when many of my friends told me they could relate to feeling similarly short-fused.
Romain is seeing all the things I most dislike about myself manifest in hyper-mode. They’re the things I usually attempt to control, breath through, and if and when they do emerge, it’s usually not until later on in a relationship—and most certainly not all at once. It would be easy for him to be “over it,” to not want to deal with it all, and turn inward. Instead, he’s done the opposite; he’s helped talk me through my feelings and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. As I’m continuing to learn, that’s just how he’s wired.
Courtesy of Ariana Marsh
His proclivity for optimism, for making jokes and making people laugh, is what I love most about him. He sees the humor in everything and handles situations with a calmness and rationality that I, an emotional grenade, envy. The other day, we went to visit the wine and beer shop for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. “He seems like he has a real zest for life,” Ken, the shop owner and an amateur beekeeper, told me, laughing and nodding toward Romain. Since we arrived, Romain has frequented the Dollar General and bought a new wardrobe, hinging on patterned women’s leggings and cheap baseball caps. As you can imagine, his look has been the talk of a very small, very remote town. On that particular day, his legs were tightly wrapped in a black-and-pink rose print, while a hat reading “Beaver Hunter” rested proudly on his head. (He initially didn’t know what the phrase meant but was delighted when I explained.) “Those are the best people to be around, they keep things fun,” added Ken. I felt such pride and gratitude to be with someone with such positive magnetism.
Despite his unwavering cheerfulness, I know the situation has been somewhat stressful for Romain too—even if he doesn’t really show it. He hasn’t been able to work, because his employer didn’t provide him with a laptop with the software necessary to execute his job. He’s had to combat feelings of boredom and restlessness by playing computer games, running, and experimenting with sandwich recipes. And his parents are living in France, which was hit by the pandemic much earlier than the United States, so he’s been worrying about them and their well-being for months.
I’ve tried to be extra-conscious of the fact that Romain is in an unfamiliar environment with lots of new people and react accordingly. When he withdraws from family dinners and activities or chooses to opt out of them completely, I have to remind myself not to take it personally. When I find myself getting angry that he can’t uphold plans for a 6 p.m. yoga class livestream despite not having any other real commitments (the nerve!), I try to get my frustration out via some solo Ujjayi breathing, and then address the situation with a sense of yogi calm.
For us, the COVID-19 pandemic and its subsequent isolation and distancing has been far from lonely and isolated; it’s been a crash course in shared space, quality time, and one another’s emotions and tendencies. It’s been about letting the little things slide and reacting with compassion, because what’s going on in the world is so much bigger. It’s been about developing immense gratitude and admiration for all the ways we’ve clicked under pressure. Over the past few weeks, Romain and I have started discussing the idea of moving in together once stay-at-home orders have lifted. We figure that if we can make it through this together, we can take on tiny New York City living together. And honestly, it would feel weird not to.
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Love in the Time of Covid-19: A Fast-Track Romance - HarpersBAZAAR.com
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