We met online in 2004, before Hinge, Bumble, or even the iPhone existed. My friends thought I was as likely to be killed as I was to find a partner. But I wasn't worried. From his profile I could see that he was funny, absurd, modest, artistic and practical. We would get along wonderfully.
We met at Paru Vegetarian Indian Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. I was a minute early and Matt was a minute late. We joked for years that it was the last time I was on time and he wasn't.
After dinner, we headed to the Tiki-Ti. We drank mai tais and made each other laugh.
He didn't spend the night, which seems silly because he left at 5:30 am. It was the last time he didn't spend the night.
For the next 17 years, we were a unit: Matt and Amie.
Except I wasn't Amie. I was Ted.
We travel together. We saw 50 states and nine of Canada's 10 provinces. (If we had stayed together longer, we would have come after you, Saskatchewan.)
We also walked a lot, from Echo Park to West Hollywood, from East Hollywood to the Music Center, everywhere to the cheap seats at the Hollywood Bowl.
We threw strange parties: a garden party with a make-your-own-hat bar, a dinner filled with spontaneous performance art, and a birthday party called Lord Pontchartrain's Cosmic Saturnalia.
We sing a ridiculous amount of karaoke. We rented a six-bedroom house in East Hollywood for $1,900 a month, sublet two of the rooms and still had room for a karaoke room. We built a stage and installed curtains and stage lighting. We had a smoke machine and costumes. We had 100,000 songs and we sang them until the morning.
We both work hard but never prioritize our careers over a beautiful experience, a meaningful conversation, a unique meal, a practical joke.
And we made each other laugh. Matt is the funniest person I have ever met.
So why did it end? The easy answer is that I transitioned. She wasn't the person she was supposed to be. I was Ted, and Ted was too afraid to transition and he was too happy with Matt to take the risk.
The pandemic changed that. On June 8, 2020, during the COVID-19 lockdown, I said out loud for the first time that I was trans.
We lived on a farm between Solvang and Los Olivos. It was a perfect place to weather a pandemic: it was difficult to get within six feet of another person if you tried. The isolation after the lockdown also freed me from social pressure. I had cross-dressed my entire life, never out of shame, but always in private. Now I started living as a woman full time.
Matt asked if this was going to be “an everyday thing.” I said yes.
Then we face the great commitment of our relationship. Every day I imagined myself as a woman and Matt is only attracted to men. For years, we'd had a practically unspoken deal: I would live my trans life after he went to sleep and whenever he was out of town.
But he couldn't keep it hidden anymore.
Despite all the chaos of our last year together, despite all the sadness of seeing a happy relationship end, we still cared deeply about each other. In January 2021, Matt told me, “If you're going to live your life as Amie, you need to do it where you can be yourself, on your own, separate from me.” That might be the kindest, toughest, best advice you've ever received.
As soon as I received the COVID-19 vaccine, I moved to San Francisco.
Two days before I moved, Matt and I took our favorite hike up Figueroa Mountain. We got married on that mountain six years before. Now, in our favorite view, we take off our wedding rings and bury them under a tree.
On Friday, Matt drove me and a medium-sized U-Haul to my new apartment. We had takeaway sushi and a bottle of wine. He spent the night with me in what used to be our bed. On Saturday we sat in silence at our favorite Mexican place, El Farolito, and ate together the saddest Mission burrito in California history.
Then we went out into the street. And we say goodbye.
Matt said the best time to leave a party was just past its peak. No one will want you to leave, but it is the right decision. Leave them wanting more.
That's what we did with our relationship.
That's the hard answer to why we broke up.
I live in Las Vegas now. I'm Amie and I'm happier than ever. The transition is not easy, but challenges and all, it is the best decision I have ever made.
I'm dating, and so is Matt. We both use the now familiar dating apps. Every two weeks we talk on the phone to exchange horror stories.
I'm planning to find love again. I hope my new person can live up to Matt. I'm not sure we're capable of organizing such absurd parties. I know it won't make me laugh as much.
I am grateful for the 17 years I spent with the man who is now my ex-husband.
It was quite a party.
The author is a writer and founder of the educational company Amie Teaches. She lives in Las Vegas. She is on Instagram: @amie_in_blue
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