In July 2020, in Maine, Sara and Scott did not get married. They planned to. They wanted to. They did not fall out of love, just out of context. Sara recounts of the time that "it came down to, 'Okay, we can either have a wedding and it's going to be 10 people — our closest family. And it could potentially get people sick... We don't know what's going on with the pandemic, we would never want to put anyone in danger.' Or…"
Despite their engagement in Boston a year prior, despite excited momentum towards a summer wedding — "everything will be fine in July" — and despite grounded conviction in this next step of their relationship, in May 2020, this couple made a decision they had hoped to avoid. "Nothing was open, and everything was just kind of sad." Their wedding was delayed with great ambiguity. The COVID-19 crisis necessitated new practical and emotional parameters for marriage in Boston. Better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness, and health converged. Newlyweds and long-term couples alike weathered a relentless new potency of togetherness.
Xiaobei McKean and Jacques Erasmus married in August 2019. After meeting in Beijing in 2013, their relationship built itself in the intersections of their individual expatriate lives — where time existed at a unique scarcity, and corresponding intensity. Marriage, in part, then represented a definitive anchor to one another, a "sign of commitment" Erasmus describes, without which, "nothing would have changed," but which was "important to symbolize." McKean puts it a bit differently. "We saw each other a lot, but it is definitely something to have all your belongings in one place together."
The newlyweds began married life in Boston, in Fall 2019, comprised of work, graduate school, and — imminently — lockdown. "One place" assumed an absoluteness that extracted new habits of shared life. "Even though we were living together," McKean explains of life before the pandemic, "it was more of a balance because we were each doing our own things…. When the pandemic happened, we were forced back out of that balance."
Through shared time and space, they have "become more okay with being together more often" and "better about being off-balance for a while." This has required periodic adjustment. "We're spending all of our time together, but how do we intentionally spend quality time together?" Because "there is a difference between being forced together all the time and having intentionality in that."
Megan and Justin Schratweiser married in 2011, in Hanover, Penn. Ideologically isolated in a conservative town, Megan describes how they "kind of gravitated towards each other." Justin, having been previously married, valued that their "personalities matched most from that little, small town."
As she would have been "happy to elope," Megan attributes their wedding to "what the families wanted… more of a showoff than how we actually cared about it." Regarding marriage, however, Justin explains that "we already knew that we wanted to be together, so that was never in question." And while his first was borne of "external pressures," his marriage to Megan continually reveals that "Oh, this is the way it should be."
The couple relocated, and currently work in the greater Boston area. "The same thing that led us to be together was the same thing that led us to leave Pennsylvania." As essential workers — both are leasing agents for different properties — the pandemic did not significantly disrupt their practical lives. Rather, it had a galvanizing effect on their relationship. Justin explains that their experience "edges a little bit more on the political… it brought us together, seeing as we couldn't understand why [the pandemic] was politicized." Unable to find unity and support in polarized political America, Megan and Justin found it in each other.
This affirmation of one another has been a constant in their relationship. "We were together for so long, we felt like nothing really changed with us. The scenery changed, but our mentality — from what it was years ago — really didn't...." Justin admits to being "more black and white" when he says, with regard to the pandemic, "when you take those vows and it's 'for better of worse,' well, this is one of the worse things."
In July 2021, in Maine, Sara and Scott got married. During postponement period, Sara says they were "bored, like everyone else", but secure in their partnership and eventual threshold into marriage — "we just put our plans down… took a break and were like 'We'll deal with this later.' " As restriction gave way to possibility, those convictions were rewarded — all the more celebrated against the backdrop of uncertainty. "It was even more special because... we had gone through this crazy time... we waited a long time for this... we made it, we still got married!"
Sara and Scott's wedding was subject to the timeline of the pandemic. Megan and Justin found themselves in each other once more. Xiaobei and Jacques endured and invested through elements beyond their control. For all three couples, the institution of marriage endured, drawing a perimeter of togetherness around the unforeseen and unknowable. As Erasmus explains, the pandemic changed "how we handle certain things... But it didn’t change the meaning of marriage... I think it’s just lived up to what I always thought it would be..."
