Thoughts on a Proposal

“Rachel, will you marry me?”

When I was a little girl, my mother taught me this trick to help me make decisions. She said that you can flip a coin. While the coin is still in the air, your mind or your heart or your gut or whatever you want to call the decision-making part of your brain will tell you what you want, or what you hope the coin will tell you. At this moment, with Joe staring back at me, I can’t find a single coin.

Joe is such a good guy, and I’m not just saying that to make me feel better about who I’ve chosen as my significant other and spent the last three years on. He is a good guy. Yes, like everyone else, he has his flaws: always trying to make a joke, clueless about how to dress well, believing he can’t ever be sexy. But he doesn’t have any of the “unmanageable” flaws, the deal breakers: racist, sexist, lazy, and so on.

Joe is a good guy, but I’m afraid that’s it. One time in high school, I tried to set up my friend with this one girl who I knew liked him. She was pretty. She was nice, and she had a great ass. But he wouldn’t go out with her. “She’s boring.” He was right. She was nice, but she wasn’t interesting. Now, I find myself in the same genre of predicament: the nice-yet-not-interesting man kneeling before me, proposing marriage, a lifetime of me having to be “the interesting one.”

And on top of all of that, we have my issues with marriage. Everyone seems to ignore the first sentence of “Pride and Prejudice.” My good friend Jane laid it on thick for us dull readers, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” The idea of marrying for money and power doesn’t jive with the overwhelmingly popular romanticized version of matrimony, so people ditch and forget what they don’t like. Even before Austen, Shakespeare -- or which ghostwriter actually wrote it -- shared “Romeo and Juliet” with the world. For centuries now, us stupid humans have ignored the fact that this is a tragedy about two dumb kids lusting over one another and six people, themselves included, dying in the process. The idea that politics and alliances are greater than a teenage “love” (more like a rebound) disgusts people, so they ditch it and forget it. Now, we have pop stars singing for their respective “Romeos” and newlyweds having their first dance to the very same, ignorant song.

I have about six seconds left to figure out how to make this rejection as smooth as possible. And of course he had to do this all is the middle of a fucking restaurant on a Saturday night in the midst of peek date-night hours. The only people not coupled up here are the waiting staff, but then again, our waiter could be sleeping with the host. If I say no, I won’t ruin just Joe’s night but at least a handful of months, if not years, for him. And I’ll probably let down a few other patrons, leaking negativity and doubt into their own relationships. All of sudden, everyone here will be single and crying.

I can’t have that, but I can’t have this relationship level up either. Joe and I just aren’t on the same wavelength. He’s more of a beige, whereas I’m a nomad for the whole color wheel. He’s such a nice guy, and he tries so hard. The whole night makes sense now. His pacing. The rush to the restaurant. The reserved table. The lightning-quick food ordering. No wonder he pounded all his drinks.

Life with Joe wouldn’t be horrible. Women have lived worse: genocide, pillaging, plundering, rape, abuse, assault, and so on. Living in a not-quite-fully-satisfied-yet-still-healthy marriage doesn’t seem too bad. I could just suck it up and accept my womanly fate. I could raise kids, keep the house tidy, return to the workforce after a few years off, etc. Joe might even be the kind of guy who’s okay with or might even want to stay home and do all those things that I don’t really want to do. Joe has always been good to me, so I think he would keep that up, right? I wouldn’t have to worry about the newlywed stress turning my husband into a raging wife beater, right? We would have a shared health insurance policy, so things would be easier, right? Kids won’t make us hate each, right? We wouldn’t be like those families on “Supernanny,” right?

I have maybe three seconds before this poor man starts to really worry and shit his pants. And in front of all these people. We can’t have that. Joe, I wish this was easier for me, but we both know how indecisive I am. Remember when I was tasked with choosing where to order take-out from that one Friday night? We didn’t eat until nine. I need more than ten seconds to make this decision. 

I’m just now realizing that we never had an in-depth discussion about marriage, or did we? However, our definitions of an “in-depth discussion” are not congruent. You asking me for my ring size and me answering you does not constitute an in-depth discussion of our future. That’s just a get-to-know-me question! Come on, Joe! I’m racking my brain for any instance in which I told you that I would like to marry you. My drunk blabberings do not count, Joe. 

With just two seconds left, I’ve discovered another one of your faults Joe: poor communication. Yes, this does apply to every single person on the planet, myself including, but for you it shows up in the form of silent assumptions and never-to-be articulated thoughts. Joe, you should have told me you wanted to marry me before sitting me down in front of all these people at this nice restaurant that doesn’t deserve a bad Yelp review. I don’t know how a failed proposal could impact a small business, but I don’t think it could be good.

One second now, Joe. Why did you do this to me? Why did I ever think it was okay to date a person for three whole years and never tell them I didn’t want to ever get married? Why did I assume that he was the one who messed up? Why did I ever let this relationship last longer than two months? Why did I never try to challenge you, Joe? Why did I just accept what we had and never thought to change it or leave?

“Rachel.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He’s so happy. Of course, everyone put down their forks to clap. We even have some dude whistling. Force a smile, Rachel. Force it. Kiss the man. Hug the man. Let him put the ring on your finger. I can’t tell if it’s me or him shaking. At least it fits.