Marriage Fever.

Today is the day!

I know it is. I also know that I’ve said this every two weeks when it’s his turn to plan our date night but there is something different about today.

It doesn’t matter that there are no roses littered around our table when we walk up to it, his cologne is intoxicating enough and I’m sure the two of us add enough colour to the scenery. There are no candles on the table either but again, that doesn’t matter since the view of the city lights do the twinkling just fine. No minstrel to serenade us but that’s just me looking for things to pick apart. All a proposal truly needs are the two people in love and we have that. We are that.

I’m extremely hopeful that today will be the day.

He texted that he had something special for me and if I’m amendable to the idea, I should dress up for the evening. Really dress up for it. I interpreted that as an invitation to buy a new dress. Something he has never seen before. And I think this white and black short lacy number, highlighting all the right places, does the job.

And he spent all day hinting about it, sending texts every one hour about tonight. So, I don’t think I’m over-thinking the possibility of a ring at the end of the evening.

If you don’t mind, could you wear that chunky bracelet we got on our Kenya trip and your pearl necklace. It’s this attention to the little details that gives the impression that there is probably going to be photographic evidence of tonight. And what needs professional photography if not a proposal!

Wear comfortable shoes though, not heels. Please. I settled for ballerina flats. There was a message he was trying to communicate. And all the signs point towards an engagement. Why comfortable shoes lead me to conclude ‘proposal’ is beyond me but I want this so badly and have taken to reading signs as simple as the way he says my name.

I have to constantly remind myself that this is not the first time he has teased a proposal. I mean, it’s not the first time I imagined he was preparing to propose. His mind doesn’t seem to consider that.

There was that one time, five months ago, where he asked for us to take a trip to the coast. Pretty sunsets, exotic experiences and time alone - no one could blame me for thinking that was it. Especially considering that a beach proposal is top of my list .

But that was then and this is now.

Carry a light purse. Actually if you can get away with it, don’t carry anything. But I need my phone. A light purse then. He successfully ignored my messages on what we’ll be doing. I’m left to guessing and my mind runs wild.

I’ll pick you up at 6! Can’t wait. Love you.

Today is the day!

We are at the Skyz Hotel. We’ve both been there for work but not for a romantic date. From the name you can imagine that the rooftop view is extraordinary. This is the third on my list of possible ways for my proposal. Of course, the other details got lost in translation but he nailed the corner rooftop table and the privacy.

I’m sure this will be beautiful in its own way. It will be mine.

I always imagined he would need help with the proposal because, well,…he’s himself. Unapologetically so. He botched the first idea, of course. So for the past three months, I’ve been laying it thick on the hints that this is what I want. All the movies we’ve had for movie night have always had that moment and I do all the gushing and rewinding and pausing so that it sinks in. It has certainly crossed my mind that if I want this so badly I might have to be the one to pop the question.

The first time I hinted about a proposal, two years ago, he looked up from his bowl of popcorn and said it was the ‘marriage fever’ talking. I agreed with him. Most of my friends were getting married, still getting married actually. All of them have been in relationships shorter than ours. We’ve been together for eight years. We should be crossing over to the next logical step, right? I don’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.

Without this proposal-marriage madness hanging over our heads, he gets me. Like no one else. We have the best times together, laughing till we are nursing stitches or making up games. I have no problem being all facets of my awkward self around him. He is the one I think of whenever I belt out those love songs that strike a chord in my heart, the one I imagine forever with. He is ‘the one’. I know this without a doubt.

He lets me order first and adds a bottle of wine to our meal.

“Oooh, is there anything we are celebrating today?” He smiles in response and I scold my heart and demand for it to calm down. It doesn’t help to rush the entire thing and ruin the surprise. 

“We are celebrating ourselves.” He holds up his glass and I clink mine with his.

I read more into this than I probably should but keep a level head when he changes topics. He asks about my day and we slip into our well worn conversations. His day, his work, my work, any other business. Things that are safe. Things I don’t expect to hear today.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, he must casually slip a black velvet box on the table that I don’t notice till our plates are cleared away to make room for desserts. I almost choke on the wine when I notice it.

When he makes no move to explain it, as though he can’t see it, I point at it.

“What is this?” My emotions betray me when a smile follows the question.

“Something special.” I stare at the box too long my eyes start to water. “Well go ahead,” he laughs, “open it.” He says taking a sip of his wine. No knee then. But there is no point in dragging things out. I draw the box to myself and keep stealing glances at him before the box is fully open. His face gives nothing away.

“It’s…” Beautiful, lovely, precious? My mind rushes to find the perfect word I need to convey how much I appreciate this gesture. “it’s a key.” I deflate when I see what’s inside the box. Because it is a key!!! A silver house-key, about the size of my pinky. I don’t take the time to think of the science behind it fitting in such a box because…it is a key!

“It is a key. To our new apartment.” He laces his answer with all the joy he can muster without reading my emotion. I want to cry but it won’t do because he thinks this should somehow excite me.

We already live together!

Not officially. Some days he’s over at my place. Most days I’m over at his apartment. But we are together together. Like if I was stranded at his place for a month, I wouldn’t be out of place.

“Babe, it’s a key.” I repeat. This must be some kind of joke. He does that a lot. Or this must be the first piece of the puzzle. He does that a lot too.

“It is,” He replies slowly, probably catching on that a key is not what was supposed to be in the box. “You’ll feel better once you see our place. Which is where we are going after dinner. It’s beautiful.”

“I bet it is. I just…it’s just that…I…” I can’t get the right words in. “I can’t wait to see the house.” I say instead and force a smile.

“That’s not what you wanted to say though.”

“Well, pardon me if I expected a ring or something for long term commitment.” I feel my tone shifting from civil.

“Because divorces don’t happen,” he scoffs, “I think this proves how committed I am for the long-term. We are amassing property together, a house together, a life together. Isn’t this the essence of marriage? Or is it that you terribly want a wedding?” I am at a loss as to how I should respond to this.

He continues, “Weddings, engagements all that is pomp we don’t need that will just eat into our money. This is me, telling you, in the best way I know how, in the only way that makes sense to me and reflects my intention for this relationship, that I want to make a home with you.” His hands stretch across the table and find mine. I still want to cry. There is logic to his statement and if I let him, he will talk me out of my desire for an engagement.

“My parents want a legal something, pictures, a video, invitations…” I’m clutching at a straw and he knows it.

“Your parents? Or you?” I pull my hand out of his grasp. He ruffles his hair. The evening has fallen so far off course.

“Me then!!! Me! I want all the pomp about our love that I can gather. I want to look back at engagement photos and wedding photos and have plenty of stories to tell about those two days in my life.”

“And I bet you want me to get down on one knee and ask if you will marry me when I already know the answer.”

“I think the answer is changing drastically in this moment.” That shuts him up. Even though the answer is not changing. I’d marry him in a heartbeat. I’d follow him to the ends of the world. This must sound like madness. We sit a while in the silence.

“Why does a proposal mean so much to you?” he whispers from behind his hands.

“Why does it mean so little to you?” We sit with our questions as they place our desserts before us. None of us make a move to consume them even though they sit there looking so tempting. It’s my fault really, for reading into something that wasn’t supposed to be. I should let it go.

I should let it go! As I convince myself of this, the tears pour out.

Tonight would have been so perfect if I hadn’t heaped my expectations on it. I feel myself slipping into a full blown break-down and hide my face in my hands.

And a house is a great thing, we will be together just like we want. Why am I insisting on a proposal? I hear him call my name but can’t respond beyond the hiccups.

This is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done, crying in public at this age. That’s another thing, I’m not getting younger! I need a marriage for the stability it provides. I’m over-thinking this and my nose starts to run too.

Then he is at my feet, soothing me - whispering things I don’t pay attention to with his hands on my waist. All I can hear in my head is ‘we are making a scene at one of the fanciest hotels in the country.’

“Babe look at me,” He pries my hands from my face. “Look at me.” He wipes my tears with his fingers and holds my face in his hands. I look at him, puffy eyes and all.

“I didn’t know this meant this much to you. I wouldn’t have toyed with it or ignored it this much. You mean the world to me and if it means a lot to you…it should mean a lot to me. And I know I have already killed the romance in the moment with my poor statements. But I want ‘till death’ with you. I do. I’ve known that from the day you punched me for staring at you for so long. I like who I am with you. That’s nothing compared to how much I love you. Feel free to stop me if this gets too mushy for you to hear,” he gives off a nervous laugh and properly gets on one knee, “It probably means nothing to you after that brief disagreement but you are who I think of when I think of home. I just got ahead of myself in trying to make that a reality without asking you first. I’m as flawed as you definitely know, maybe worse. Asking you to promise me forever is a risk I hope you are willing to take because I want to do better by you. Always.”

He picks the little box from where it sits on the table, forgotten. “This is not the ring you want…and I’m going to work on that. But…make a home with me, grow old with me, let me love you forever. Yes?”

“Am I going to work as hard at getting a wedding too?” I prolong this because it’s good to see him on that knee.

“Probably,” he laughs, “but baby steps. Imagine the story you’ll tell the world about your half-baked proposal.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you can imagine the story or yes to me?”

“To both. But mostly to you. I’m always going to choose you. Always.”