Five Golden Rings

"Will you..." He cleared his throat, no doubt having as hard of a time saying his next two words as she was having trying to look at him.

It didn't matter.

Grace had been through this too many times not to know what he meant, too many times not to dread what came next, too many times not to have anticipated this.

"Will you marry me?" he finally squeaked, sounding every inch as young as he'd been when they'd first met.

She'd been through four engagements already, each one ending more excruciatingly than the last. Worse still, every single one of her exes had found it "romantic" to ask her on December 24th, only to break it off before the next. This proposal seemed no different, but she couldn't exactly express that without causing a great deal of pain to her current partner.

This one was just like the others. The lights, the snow, the uncertainty on his face(She never knew why they thought she might say "no." What was the point of dating someone if you didn't want to marry them?)－they were nothing new. It was never how you saw it on TV: the lights were rarely as bright as they were intended; the snow was always muddy; the man with the ring was almost never suave, handsome, brave enough to treat his partner's agreement as an inevitability. The only variable was the man himself; he would be the only factor in whether the engagement stuck, except… 

This one was just like the others.

She'd known David since the second grade. In high school, they had banded together to make a webcomic, his incredible writing making her drawings into something worth looking at. She'd been with her first boyfriend then, the one who'd made her realize that she might be old enough to date, the one who'd torn down her mental walls. He'd confessed his feelings to her, and she'd decided to date him, not because she'd felt the same way, but because she'd been new to this, because she couldn't find a reason not to. The first Christmas Eve they legally could, he'd asked her to marry him, eyes begging her to say "yes." 

Naturally, she had. It wasn't until a few months later that she'd realized she didn't really love him as anything more than a friend. She'd had stronger feelings around other boys, and, even though she couldn't tell exactly which they were for, she could still tell he wasn't the "one." She'd tried to love him, really－but he wasn't blind. Six months into their engagement, he'd asked her to give the ring back.

Naturally, she had.

The first time she'd run into David after high school had been a wake-up call. They'd ended up talking about their first comic for hours, discussing a sequel, even－that was when it had hit her: she needed a new project. Even if she couldn't find a lasting relationship anytime soon, at least she'd have done something with her life. Of course, that was when she had met her second boyfriend. He was an excellent comedian, but far too shy to actually put his skills to use. Instead, he'd found his place in retail. Later on, he'd assure her that his employment status had been a good thing－that was how he'd met her, after all. Three years later, he'd asked her to marry him. She'd begun to feel a sense of déj`a vu, but maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe she'd felt something for this one.

Maybe he'd found someone who loved him. Wishful thinking, she finally understood. She cared about this man, but she couldn't love him. Not the way he wanted her to, at least. She knew she'd felt something when they'd met, but it couldn't have been for him. Three months after her second "yes," he broke it off. Part of her was glad.

Maybe he'd found someone who loved him.

The comics she'd made with David had been huge successes. Never mind that their first had been brought into the world by two teenagers. He'd invited her to dinner, just to celebrate. That had been it, merely a celebratory dinner between business partners, between friends. They'd discussed new ideas, new characters, new projects, entirely separate from their first two, and it had become clear: they were each other's greatest inspiration; there was no way they could start new projects without each other. When she'd left, she'd caught sight of their waiter as he flashed her a wink. She'd met him again two weeks later, and he'd asked her out, beginning her third relationship. During that time, she'd learned that he, too, had been engaged twice before, the only major difference being that one of his engagements had actually grown into a marriage, out of which his daughter had been born. Two years after their first date, he'd asked her to marry him. She'd given it a shot. After all…

The third time was supposed to be the “charm,” wasn’t it? Despite this, her third engagement had lasted only two months, during which she’d wondered where that spark had gone, the one she’d felt when she’d first met him. Something had definitely gone awry.

The third time was supposed to be the “charm,” wasn’t it?

She’d started to see David around more often. It only made sense; They’d been able to start their own business with the profits from their first comics, and had begun working out of the same building. His department was larger than the entirety of her previous company, and hers was almost the same size, but they’d still managed to bump into each other, even when it hadn’t been for work. After particularly grueling staff meetings, he’d invite her to lunch. As the head writer, though, he was incredibly busy, so she'd usually end up chatting with his secretary for a few minutes, while she waited for him to wrap things up. She'd soon found herself wishing for these lunches, attributing it to her need to relay her experiences to someone. After a certain point, David's assistant had approached her, asking for his chance to take her out during their break. She'd tried to ignore the feeling in the back of her mind, an unvoiced concern that she might have been stuck in a vicious cycle of "single, dating, engaged; single, dating, engaged."

She couldn't let that happen again. This time, though, she had to. A month into her fourth engagement, she'd discovered that her current lover was "playing the field."

She couldn't let that happen again.

She'd known David since the second grade. He'd been her partner on every creative project she'd ever completed. He'd always made her laugh, thanks to the fact that their senses of humor were practically identical. He'd been around every time she'd met one of her exes, and had always been there to cheer her up when things fell through. He'd always been there for her. The problem was, she couldn't let him be part of another failed relationship. He was too kind to suffer that with her. Even worse, she couldn't expect him to comfort her if he were the one she broke up with. Without him, she wouldn't know how to handle that.

"I… I'm sorry, David."

"Oh? What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Maybe, for not realizing it sooner? For being so stupid? Or, here's a thought: for making you deal with all of my issues, when I was too blind to reciprocate?"

"It sounds to me like you've done nothing wrong."

"David, really; I-"

"It also sounds like you're saying 'yes.'"

Wow. Smooth. Too smooth. After devolving into a flustered mess, Grace managed to ask, "A-are you sure about this?"

"Would I ask you if I weren't?"

"You're great at dodging questions; you know that?"

"I guess that makes two of us."

"I… Well…" Okay, she had to take back her previous thoughts. David was definitely like those guys in rom-coms. How did she manage to find a guy like that? Scratch that. How was a guy like that interested in her? When she looked back up at him, she noticed something that proved he didn't think he was as debonair as his tone of voice would suggest. The audible evidence of his anxiety was long gone, but his face was the same shade of scarlet as hers, too deep into the hue to be a result of the chilly breeze.

"I love you, Grace. I want to spend the rest of my life by your side."

She let out a soft chuckle. It was always nice to find a phrase with multiple meanings.

"I guess that makes two of us."