The Engagement Story. June 12, 2007

Every single morning for the past four days, I have woken up and felt the ring and, for a moment, I’ve laid in bed confused. Then it washes over me in alternating waves of tingles and warmth. 
 
I’m fucking engaged. 
 
“Omigod, how does it feel?” they ask, as if I’m pregnant. 
 
“Surreal,” is my go-to answer, mostly because it’s true. Having an oddly dreamlike quality. Yeah, that’s about right. 
 
Some moments I forget. In fact, it happened this morning, on the subway. I looked down at my iPod to change the song and caught a glimpse of my ring and got a jolt. A reminder jolt. A “this is your reality now” jolt. And I smiled to myself, which made the people seated across from me wonder what I was up to. 
 
I’m up to being engaged. 
 
It happened on Friday, June 8. I love Fridays an I love even numbers and I love June - the month, the word - so, really, it was the perfect day. 
 
The week preceding it? Not so perfect. It was hellish, last week was. I was busier than I’ve ever been. I skipped lunch three days in a row. I subsisted solely on coffee and sheer will to make it to Friday afternoon. By the end of the week, I was exhausted. Exhausted and all too ready to leave behind a cluttered desk and a cluttered mind. 
 
I went to the salon to have my dead ends chopped off. To be styled. To sip white wine and flip through magazines. I thought - sitting there, having my hair washed and my head rubbed - that that was as good as the weekend would get; little did I know. 
 
M met me outside of the salon with a bouquet of flowers. I didn’t think much of it because M is the type of guy to know I’ve had a hard week and surprise me with flowers (see why I love him?).  
 
We went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and topped the meal off with one of our favorite desserts - an ice cream sandwich sundae the size of our heads, perhaps slightly larger. It took the edge off, more so than the three sangrias that preceded it.  
 
We were planning on heading up to Connecticut that evening, as M had a book signing the next morning and we figured that a night in a hotel (hotel sex! Room service! A bathroom that we don’t have to clean!) would do us good.
 
As we got into his car, in Manhattan, M informed me that we had to make a pit stop at his apartment, in Queens, so that he could pack. 
 
I may or may not have rolled my eyes and sighed loudly and asked, in a not very tolerant tone, “OMIGOD, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING ALL DAY? WHY DIDN’T YOU PACK EARLIER?”  
 
I did not know, at the time, that he had spent the day with my family. He went with my mother to the family jeweler to get the ring set, after which he popped by my dad’s office to show it off to my dad, my brother, my sister (and all of my dad’s squee-ing colleagues).  
 
Had I known that at the time, there would’ve been a lot less eye rolling and sighing. 
 
We went up to his apartment and, curse of the runty-pea-sized bladder, I immediately went into the bathroom. 
 
When I came out, M was sitting on the couch in the living room. “Um, why aren’t you pack–“ And then I just knew. Something in his eyes. It just hit me. “Are you about to propose to me?” 
 
He smiled, ignoring my question, and asked me to sit down next to him. He then launched into a speech that I’m sure was very delightful and flattering and emotional, but TO HELL IF I REMEMBER WHAT HE SAID. 
 
I? I was in shock. Not fake, omigod, hands-to-face, wide eyes shock, accompanied by tears. It was genuine, omigod, I can’t move, or react, or do anything shock. I apparently did manage to get out a “yes” because a beautiful, round-brilliant solitaire in a white gold setting somehow ended up on my ring finger.  
 
He later told me there were plans, big plans. Complicated plans, involving plane tickets and a surprise getaway to a romantic locale. Except, in true M fashion, he couldn’t wait. He got the ring and, on the drive home from New Jersey, he decided he wanted to do it. Spontaneously. To catch me by surprise. “I couldn’t wait, Clink. I had the ring and I just…couldn’t wait. To be engaged. To you. Plus, I knew it would totally surprise you and you wanted to be surprised.”  
 
Mission? Accomplished. 
 
I eventually came to, though the emotion preceded the realization. (I still don’t think the realization has fully settled in, to this day.) I called my family, all of whom were on high alert and ecstatic at the news.  
 
M packed and we got in his car at around 11pm, to head to Connecticut. We were armed with champagne and chocolate chip cookies and a bridal magazine he had so thoughtfully picked up. We were also armed with adrenaline, bucketfuls of adrenaline.  
 
Car rides are not normally romantic, not outside of a lazy drive through the country in a convertible with a head scarf and sunglasses circa 1950, but this one was. It was a misty, foggy night, which added to everything feeling blurred and dreamlike. We blasted music and sang along and lowered music and talked and kissed when the road was clear and it was safe for M to takes his eyes off of it. We held hands. We (okay, mostly I) stared at the ring. We finally - finally! - freely discussed wedding plans without feeling like we were jumping the gun.  
 
The two of us, in his car, in love, engaged. 
 
We’re still going to take the trip he was planning. The engagement trip. “You would’ve known,” he said. He’s right. Had he whisked me away on a few hours’ notice, I would’ve been anticipating a proposal at every moment. Tonight at dinner? Today on the beach? When I come out of the shower? 
 
I didn’t anticipate this one at all. And it floored me. And damn near knocked me unconscious from the weight of the surprise. And, it was perfect. Perfect for us. Like our relationship, the proposal was no-frills and spontaneous and full of pure, unadulterated love and adoration for each other.  
 
And now I’m a bride-to-be. And he’s a groom-to-be. And we’ve stepped into this adventure - first the wedding planning, then the marriage, then all the rest - together. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side, come hell or high water or venue costs bordering on obscene.  
 
Somehow, someway, against stacked odds, we managed to find each other. And now, well now there’s no letting go.