Stephen Robertson and Sheena Jeffers at their wedding in Matagalpa, Nicaragua
Once upon a time, there was a bubbly ballerina and a misanthropic marketer.
They were friends for 10 years, and then they met.
When they got married, the world fell apart.
Want the long version? Let’s go back to 2009, when the Richmond Twitter scene was just taking off. On a #FollowFriday, someone tagged both Sheena Jeffers and Stephen Robertson. Thus began a years-long Twitter tango. Jeffers, who was working at a law firm and teaching dance, would post something “so sappy and sweet and positive,” says Robertson, that he’d be compelled to offer a dark counterpoint.
Jeffers remembers one tweet about her ukulele practice. She was proud she had learned the verse and chorus, she tweeted; now she needed to learn the rest of the song.
If you know the verse and chorus, you already know the song, Robertson pointed out.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I can be a jackass,” he says now.
They both attended social media meetups. They didn’t speak. “He never even said hi,” Jeffers says. Robertson says he only wanted to “get the hell out as soon as the free drinks ran dry.”
In 2012, their paths diverged. Jeffers left Richmond to get her master’s in dance at Old Dominion University, then began directing a dance program in Hampton Roads. Robertson continued working for Blanchard’s Coffee in Richmond. Their banter slowed but never stopped.
Then the ballerina met a boat captain. In 2017 she boarded his catamaran, the Seas Life, and they spent a heady two years cruising the Caribbean. Palm trees and glittering waves took over Jeffers’ social media feeds. In November 2018, she joyfully announced that she was engaged. But as boats take on water, so did the relationship.
One day, while docked in Panama, Jeffers saw a taxi hit a dog. She couldn’t take it. “I remember just sitting on the back of the boat, and I was alone. And I just needed someone to talk to. … And Stephen popped into my mind.”
Crying, she sent him a message on Instagram. Robertson, who was visiting coffee growers in Nicaragua, told her that it was OK; in Central America, dogs were like squirrels. His dark joke was the balm she needed.
They kept talking. Jeffers’ engagement ended, and then her voyage did as well. When she disembarked in Key West in March 2019, with $30 in her bank account, Robertson sent her a playlist to listen to on the long drive home. Once back in Richmond, Jeffers crashed in her parents’ guest room and cried. To add to the misery, she got a bad sinus infection.
“I did one of these super 16-year-old girl things,” she admits. She texted Robertson, “I’m dying!”
“You’re not dying,” he wrote. “You’re going to be fine.”
Check on me later, she pleaded. At 7 p.m., the phone buzzed. “Are you alive?” he wrote.
“I was like, ‘Oh my God, he loves me!’ ” But when Jeffers suggested they meet for coffee, he declined.
“I knew that she was in a lot of pain,” he explains. And “I knew that if we jumped right in, that it was going to be a mess.”
Finally, on an April evening, Jeffers wrote, “I’m coming over right now.” Robertson was headed to a Southern Culture on the Skids show. He turned around.
When Jeffers walked into his house, she never said hello. She just picked up where 10 years of online conversation left off. They drank wine and talked until suddenly, it was 4 a.m. Jeffers ran out to make her Starbucks shift, which started at 4:30.
Robertson knew she’d come back. He was right.
Then, a twist: Jeffers was offered a 12-month contract teaching dance in Colorado. “You have to go,” Robertson told her. “This is something that you’re meant to do.” He drove with her on the 36-hour trip to Vail, a crucible for any relationship. They discovered the truth about each other: “I’m way more positive than I seem on the internet,” Robertson says. “She’s way more grounded than she seems on the Internet.” And they fell in love.
In February, the couple boarded a plane for Nicaragua. They married on an overlook above the town of Matagalpa, honeymooned at the beach and returned to the United States. A few weeks later, Jeffers’ contract was canceled because of the coronavirus. She rushed back to Richmond, where she continues her work as a wellness life coach.
Now they’re newlyweds in a pandemic — a storyline no one saw coming. But they’re together.
“In the internet world, you can just turn people on or off,” Jeffers notes. “We, for 10 years before we ever met, never gave up on each other.”
Follow their adventures on Twitter @sheenajeffers and @srbrtsn.
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