The Day We Actually Met

The first photo we took together.

This is part two of our story. Part one is here.

It was March 2008. I was 20 years old and editor-in-chief of the BYU-Idaho newspaper, Scroll. The semester was almost over and I was in a meeting with our adviser, the office manager and the managing editor to select positions for the next semester's staff.

We were choosing a sports editor when a particular application caught my eye. Olaveson. I remembered going to McKenzie's aunt's house, and I remembered something about her cousin who was a year older than me. Then I read his essay: "... recently returned from the South Africa Cape Town Mission ... student body president at Rigby High school ..."

I hired him on the spot.

We Meet

A couple weeks later I went to the Scroll office to meet with Juliana, the new editor-in-chief, to train her on how to send the paper to the printer. The office was busy and crowded. I knew every person in the room but one. 

Ryan Olaveson introduced himself to me, and I noticed a few things right away. He was confident but not overbearing. He had brown eyes and a distinctive nose. He spoke with a slight lilt at the end of his phrases, as though every sentence was a question. And he was handsome.

"Hi, I'm Ryan. Are you on staff?"

"No, I was the old editor-in-chief. I'm just meeting with Juliana. I actually—" I found myself fumbling for words, embarrassed that I knew so much about him when he knew so little about me. "I'm, um ... you know McKenzie? Your cousin? She's my cousin too." I still cringe remembering the moment. So awkward. So weird.

"Oh.. kay," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

True story. Lame story.

Second meeting: A do-over

A few days later I got word that I had won the Don Watkins Memorial Scholarship from the Idaho Press Club. I rushed to the Spori Building to tell two people: my dad and my professor Brother Warnick. But when I busted through the doors, neither of them were in the Scroll office. Only Ryan Olaveson was.

He asked why I was there and I suddenly realized how egotistical it would be to tell him the truth. But I'm a bad liar so I told him, trying to pretend it was no big deal when I was clearly excited enough to drive to campus to tell someone. Ryan seemed genuinely happy for me, but I left our second interaction even more embarrassed than I left our first.

Third time's the charm

The next time I saw Ryan was at country dancing a few days later, which was funny because I very nearly didn't go. David Cook was singing on American Idol that night and I was not willing to miss it.

"What if your future husband is at that dance?" my sister asked when I told her I was staying home to watch.

"He won't be. My future husband will understand how important American Idol is and meet me some other time." But the show ended and country dancing was still happening, so my friend Rachel and I found ourselves at the Manwaring Center. 

Not long after we arrived, I was standing alone while Rachel danced with someone. Ryan Olaveson, accompanied by at least three girls I didn't know, walked by.

"Hey," I said. 

"Hey!" he replied, and stopped. "I'll see you guys later, okay?" The girls left. I smiled.

We went out in the hall to talk, and to this day I don't know why he didn't ask me to dance. Post-mission jitters? I managed to avoid embarrassing myself this time and when the dance was over, he asked if I wanted to go get some ice cream.

"Oh, I can't," I said. "I didn't bring my wallet."

"Well, I—I could pay."

And with those three words, everything changed. I went. He paid. He dropped me off at my car and, after stalling in his car for at least ten minutes waiting for him to ask for my number, I drove away. He was having car trouble but I was long gone.

We're still not sure, but we think that was our first date.