A (Not So) Simple Yes Or No Question

All her life, Minerva had been cautious, indecisive. 

As she stared at Bryan on one knee in front of her, she cursed her mother. After all, it was all her fault. Her name meant intellect for God’s sake. As a result, she weighed every option, every decision in her life, whether big or small, like it could alter the course of her life.

Bryan was patiently, lovingly, smiling up at her, waiting for her answer. His caramel hair shone in the sun and the blue of his eyes reminded Minerva of all the time they had spent at the beach over the course of their relationship.

It was where they had met. He with his large, rowdy group of friends. She with a book in her hand and two layers of sunscreen. A book she had agonized over picking for ten minutes before she left the house. It had between the romance currently in her hand and a mystery that had been calling her name. The shirtless man on the cover had won. The volleyball they had been playing with sailed straight for her head and knocked her out with a thunk. 

When she had woken up, Bryan had been standing over her, the cutest look of concentration on his face as he gingerly held her head. “Sorry for my idiot friends. I told Mike not to hit the ball too hard but he never listens.” 

She hadn’t responded, wondering if she was still dreaming. Or perhaps she had died. She wondered whether this was heaven. “I guess we hit you pretty hard,” he mused. 

“No, I’m ok.” She hated inconveniencing others and quickly stood to show him she was fine. She had swayed, a dizzy rush instantly attacking her head, and Bryan had caught her, steadying her. 

“Let me make it up to you. How about I take you on a date?” 

Minerva debated whether to say yes or no. She didn’t know him at all. But wasn’t that the point of a date, to get to know the person? His smile, reassuring and kind, is what made her say yes. 

The next day, he had asked her whether she wanted Mexican or Italian over text. She had paced back and forth in her living room. What if she ordered something messy like spaghetti and dripped pasta sauce on her shirt? Or what if he thought she was uncultured if she couldn’t handle the spice of Mexican? 

After ten minutes, she had texted both in a panic before throwing her phone onto the couch and running to her room. When he picked her up that night, she wondered which restaurant he had chosen. Instead, he drove them to the beach and laid a red checkered blanket out. Then he had spread out the various containers of food. There were two different types of pasta, and enchiladas and nachos. They had eaten all the food and then they had walked along the pier, holding hands the entire time.

Bryan bought them strawberry ice cream from along the pier before they got in his car. She had thought he was driving her home, but instead, he had stopped at a bakery and bought freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. “In case you didn’t know what dessert you wanted,” he had teased with a cheeky grin. Minerva had been full but ate it regardless. 

At her front door, she debated whether to shake his hand or hug him. Instead, he had gently held her face, his hands tangling in her dark hair, and leaned in slowly, giving her time to back out. Their first kiss had been magical, tasting of sweet strawberries and melted chocolate chips and summer and the promise of first love as sparks went off in her head. 

A year into dating, he had asked her to move into an apartment with him. He’d given her time to think it over, telling her he knew it wasn’t an easy decision. For three weeks, she had gone over the pros and cons in her head, writing lists and consulting friends and her mom. Her unhelpful mom, who had cursed her with her name, had simply said, “I’m surprised you two aren’t married yet. Move in with him and enjoy every night.” 

Living together was an adjustment but being with Bryan was calming, happy like she was always meant to. She had agonized over furniture and wall colors while he had laughed and told her they could eat takeout in bean bag chairs in their puke yellow living room and he would still love living with her. 

The first time he had taken her to meet his family, she had created a mess of clothes on the floor. Should she wear a skirt or jeans? A dress? Should it be long or short? What color made her look most presentable? After two hours of rifling through her clothes, she was dressed and dragged him to the store for the perfect gift.

Chocolates, flowers, wine, candles? Bryan kept trying to reassure her that a gift wasn’t necessary but after she sent him a look, he grabbed her hand and led her to the hygiene section. “My mom likes funny soaps,” he’d said. So Minerva had shoved five different shaped soaps into their cart and started walking to the register. At the last second, she grabbed a bottle of red wine and added it to the cart. His mother had fawned over the soaps and they finished the wine that same night. 

When Minerva had trouble choosing whether they should go to Italy or Greece for vacation, he blindfolded her and told her to throw the small item he put in her hand. When she took off her blindfold, she saw the pen she had thrown had landed on the word France. She had tried to tell him it wasn’t an option, but Bryan had simply held her in his arms and kissed her. That week in France had been the best vacation she had ever been on. 

“Uhh, babe? I’m starting to think you’re overthinking this. Which means you might say no.” For once, Bryan had a worried expression on his face, his eyebrows drawn together. His arms holding the ring started to lower. As Minerva looked at Bryan, her rock, who knew how to get her out of her comfort zone, who knew how to reassure her and help her make decisions, she knew her answer. 

“Yes.”