A—Amy. A perfect name, evenly balanced on both sides. The "A" goes up, the "y" goes down, and the "m" is symmetrical in the middle. Funny I only notice that right now on our wedding invitation from two years ago.

B—Bunsen Burner. The reason we first met. A Bunsen Burner in a shop window.

I happened to be in New York City ten years after the Clue hunt at the New York Hall of Science. It was a pretty nice place, but there was a lot more advanced technology and chemistry at the Ekat strongholds, so I hadn't been that interested. I checked around the Science Shop, though, just to see what they had. I wanted to get a gift for my sister, who was starting a 6th grade science teaching job in uptown New York. It didn't take me long-the perfect gift.

A Bunsen Burner set.

It was actually better than that-it was a safety Bunsen Burner set, so no little students could get their poor little fingers burnt off or something. And it was only $19.99! Perfect. I was reaching to pick it up when the young lady beside me snatched for it, looking at the box thoughtfully. I looked behind some different boxes to see if there was another one, but no, that was the last. Of course.

I was turning around to find something else when I felt her looking at me. "Did you want this?" she asked me and, since I wasn't one to lie, I said yes, but I would find something else. She quickly shoved it into my arms. "Oh-oh, I-I'm sorry. I was just going to get it for my cousin. She's starting a new job as a teacher, but I can find a different item. Here." And as she was turning around, I saw her eyes, which had been looking down until then. Nobody else had those eyes.

"Amy?"

What a surprise I had that day.

C—Cell phone number. You gave it to me immediately afterwards, and said for me to call you any time. Apparently, you and Dan had moved downtown for your work and his college, and you had an apartment together on 66th. You asked me to visit sometime I came in to see Sinead. "I'd be glad to catch up with you. I haven't seen you in so long."

D—Dan. It was ridiculous I saw him so much. He seemed to be everywhere, at the grocery store and farmer's market, at the movies, even at the Lego World, for crying out loud! I didn't see why. And it wasn't like I came often, only on the weekends to see Sinead. The drive from New Jersey wasn't long. But when I came, he was there. And each time, he said to tell me that you said hi. After a while, I stopped saying hi back.

E—Eating. You invited Sinead and I over to your apartment a few weeks after we first came to town, as a "Welcome to the Big Apple" celebration, you said. But you fussed a lot that we would "take it to our heads," telling us that she invited all her family over for dinner when they came to town. "Even the Kabras?" I said, and your eyes immediately hardened. Dan scowled. Strange.

F—Fashion. Who ever thought that fashion would be a bond between us? But when I was visiting one day, you said that you had actually liked how the three of us used to dress alike. You said it seemed like a strong family tie to each other, and that she wished she could convince Dan to do the same. "But the twenty-one year old ninja will NOT dress like her dorkus sisterus!" we heard from the other room. You sighed. "He's is Neverland. He hasn't really grown up."

G-Grand Central Station. I bumped into you a few times, but never as hard as that one day…

I was hurrying off a subway because I was late for dinner at Sinead's place. She was a stickler for punctuality, and I didn't want to risk any smart-alecky insults she enjoyed throwing so much. Besides, according to my schedule, I would have a migraine in about seventeen minutes and I wanted to be out of the public by then. I could predict them pretty accurately by now, but sometimes they came a little bit early. Hopefully today wasn't one of those days.

Speeding as quickly as I possibly could in a dignified manner, I rounded one of the gargantuan marble columns. That was when I decided columns were like roundabouts on the road—dangerous.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and Amy was too. She sat up immediately and asked me, "Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I should have been watching. You're fine?" And I should have been fine, but that little crash started my migraine early. And I was moaning. She looked at me for a second, then lifted me up for a few seconds (strong girl!), enough time, to drag me onto one of the luggage carts. She quickly placed five dollars into the man's hand to rent it, and wheeled it out of the station to her apartment. Luckily, it wasn't too far.

H—Headaches. Or rather, a lack of them. I was lying on the couch in your living room, and rolling around, I fell off. I suppose I was used to my bed, but anyway, I hit my head. Again. And the headache stopped. And another one hasn't come back since. It completely defies all logic and science, but those two hits were apparently all it took to rewire my brain against those migraines. You call it a miracle. But I found myself glad you were there, somehow. I couldn't explain it.

I—Ian. Eating dinner with you that night (Dan was out somewhere,) I managed to get you to tell me why you had bristled at my mention of the Kabras a week ago. Ian had been your boyfriend in the past. You had loved him, you thought, and you thought he loved you too. But one day, he told you that he was already married. To another Lucian, and a wealthy, refined one at that. No wonder you hated him so much. I felt myself angering, also.

J—Jade. Watching your jade eyes while you told me this was indescribable. I saw sadness, deep sadness and a hurt in there unlike anything I had seen in a long time. I found my heart going out to you. But jade is a strong stone. I saw steel, fire, hard-core hardness in there as you said, "And I hate that man now."

K—Kabra. I would never think of him the same. Heartless, ungentlemanly, cruel, selfish—I detested Kabra so much. But you, I thought of you differently, too. You were more confident, yet more gentle. More sure of yourself, but more caring toward everyone else in need of it. And I discovered something new.

L—Liked. I liked you.

M—Moving. I acquired a new job as the assistant director of research at the same Hall of Science where I first met you. You thought that was a riot, but I thought it might be a sign. Not that I believed in signs, but it seemed a strange coincidence. I had to move to New York City, and you helped me find an apartment. Remember our shock when an apartment became available in your building?

N-Ned. "Dr. Ned Starling" was what the badge on my suit said, and everybody I came across was shocked that I could wear such a title so early in life. They would look at you, who came to work with me often on the way to yours, and wondered how you weren't still amazed at the thought. "I am amazed," you always said, "but not surprised."

O—Outing. Our first outing together was to the Statue of Liberty. On the ferry ride across, though, you lost the camera case you had set down to take a picture, and we had a merry chase against the wind around the boat trying to catch it.

P—Park. Central Park, to be specific. "No dangerous wind here," you said, so we packed a picnic and we went.

Finding a place to eat was difficult. It was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday evening, but the place she wanted to eat at couldn't be found. "There are a bunch of huge rocks," you said, "and a few trees you can cli-" she stopped. I laughed. Climbing trees were harmless, but I still could not find the place.

"Fountains! I remember fountains now!" she shouted, and I knew exactly where she was talking about. We got over there exceedingly quickly afterwards. Our dinner consisted only of grapes, parmesan cheese, olives, and a freshly baked baguette we had picked up on the way, but it was delicious. Just wonderful.

She pointed to the fountains as we were cleaning up. I looked over, and an older man was teaching an army of children how to blow giant bubbles. He had buckets and hangers and ropes and strings and everything one would need to make the largest bubble in the history of the world. She glanced at me, and I laughed. She ran over to the little kids in her skirt and blouse, earrings tinkling gently in the breeze. "Can I learn too?"

What a perfect picture she made, spinning in circles, arms out, head back, smiling and laughing without any care, only happiness, bubbles dancing around her like a dream. I took more than a few pictures with my cell phone and, when we were leaving, stuck a fifty dollar bill in the old man's tip jar. "Thank you for the best night of my life."

Q—Queen. You were my queen from then on. We were officially a couple in the eyes of everybody else, and we dated for a time. But we never came any closer to actual marriage then from the beginning.

R—Reserve. We both had too much reserve. Only four months, we had been together for such a short time. And were we ready yet? Neither of us knew.

S—Saturdays. I started living for Saturday evenings. We would always do something together every Saturday night, a dinner, a boat ride, a concert, a talk. And each time I saw you, I became more and more convinced that something needed to happen.

T—Truth. It was time I confessed it. I loved you. I knew it, I really knew it, and I couldn't let you go. Not for anything. I loved you.

U—Understanding. Your brother wasn't completely on board with my idea when I told him. He loves you too, and he really wanted to protect you from anyone like Kabra that might come along. I explained to him, though, that I would care for you and that I wouldn't harm you in any way. I think I convinced him, because I saw a smile creeping up his face. "Oh, fine. I'll say yes if she does," Dan said, and even offered to help me with my plan.

V—Valentine's Day.

I invited her to the park again that night, to go to our favorite spot. I brought sandwiches and a pitcher of ice tea, and a little something else in my coat pocket. She had no clue.

About ten minutes into our meal, my phone vibrated. "Oh, sorry. Do you mind if I check it?" She shook her head, and I took my phone out of my pocket. I read a text from Dan: I texted you right at 7:30 like you said. Get going. "It's from Ted. He just wanted to ask how we were doing. Hold on a second." And I opened contacts and sent a message to Amy Cahill: Will you marry me? I sent it, suddenly realizing my hands were shaking, and put my phone away in my pocket. About ten seconds later, her phone vibrated. I waved my hand at her. "Go ahead and check it, maybe you have an inquisitive sibling also." She laughed and reached into her purse.

I wish I could have seen her face when she read my message. All I know is that when she turned around and saw me down on one knee drawing a ring out of a box, she started crying. And she ran to me and threw her arms around me and hugged me and said, "Yes. Yes, Ned. A thousand times."

W—Wedding. It was everything I could ask for. All my family, all her family, friends, music, and you. It passed by in a flash; I was in a daze, thinking, "This is really happening. This is really happening." I looked over at you, and your face was radiant. I knew mine was the same way. It couldn't be otherwise. And I heard the words, "You may kiss the bride." So I did.

X—X. The guests all signed their names at the front of a guest book outside the door to the chapel, and marked an "X" on the back page to show they were there. But the most important person there wasn't in the book.

Y—You. The most important person was you.

Z—There isn't a Z. There shouldn't be, at least. It started and ended with you. But I suppose I need to make one to finish, so "Z" is for Zelda, the little girl at the front of my sister's class who still has difficulty with her alphabet. Sinead asked you and me for any suggestions, and I said, maybe, making each letter stand for something? I learned the alphabet best that way, two years ago.

Do you remember that old cheesy pick up line, "If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put "u" and "i" together?" I don't quite agree. If I rearranged the alphabet, I would put "A" and "N" together. Because they are. Right here on this invitation. "Amy and Ned."

And it's so perfect.

I'm a science person. I believe in logic, in reality, in things that really happened. But you've taught me to believe in fairy tales. Because once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, and a lowly man. But that princess stooped down to the man and lifted him up higher than he could have ever dreamed of. I still can't believe that I was so lucky that I got you. My wife is a princess, the highest person on the earth, and she loves me. It's like a fairy tale. Thank you.

And, Amy, we will live happily ever after.