I asked Elle to marry me.
She said yes.
I have been thinking about asking her for a long time. That sentence makes it seem casual kind of, which I promise you it was not.
I decided I was going to do it before we went to Nova Scotia, one night lying next to her as she slept with her eyes half-open. I started looking for rings. Over the next couple weeks I spent hours walking around the city looking at rings that felt empty, cold, diamonds that sparkled wildly yet felt distant, fake, soulless. I talked to my Mom, something I have started to do a little more often lately, about rings. She mentioned the ring her and my dad got married with, that she had saved it and would love for me to have it.
My Dad got a pretty bum deal in my opinion. There are obviously two sides to their story, but the one I have witnessed wasn't very fair to him. He worshiped my Mom. When they got divorced I got an email from one of her friends wondering how I was dealing with everything. She was a good friend of my Mom's from childhood, and knew my Dad and her from the beginning. Your Dad always adored your Mom, she said. Put her on a pedestal, but she never took it well, being worshiped.
He gave her that ring and they were married in the backyard of the house where, one year later, I was born. The story since then isn't all bad news. Not even close. I mean there are three of us now, and the earlier part of our childhoods were spent in the company of two parents who loved each other and us very much.
Anyhow, anyone who knows me knows how close my Dad and I are. Pete says it is incestual. My Dad is my best friend. And I feel like I share the same idealism about my relationship with Elle that he had for my Mom. I worship her. She is the most beautiful person I have ever known, the most amazing, rational girl I have ever met. She takes care of me, knows how I am feeling--sometimes before I do--, and is always, always there for me. When I fall down--literally--she picks me up. And I think she feels the same way about me. And that blows my mind. We never get sick of each other. Ever.
SO, I had the ring my Dad gave my Mom refinished, turning it into white gold, and the diamonds made to sparkle like it did when my Dad gave it to her 26 years ago. I wanted that ring to mean what it did to my Dad, and for it to be received the way it should have been. I wanted to redeem it, and in doing that, redeem my Dad. I hope this doesn't sound cruel. It isn't. My Dad had his heart broken. He risked it all, time and time again, and got burned. Elle knows this, knows how it weighs upon me, and understand me better because of it.
I think she also realizes how much it means for me to want to get married, knowing what happened with my parents. If Elle wasn't who she is, and we weren't who we are together, I would have gladly ended up living in a rooming house with Pete, Jack, and probably Lucas and Larry, for the rest of my life. Elle has forced me to reconsider and retract many statements I have made about the nature of women, the nature of committed relationships, etc. etc. She has made a liar out of me, in many ways.
So, I asked her to marry me.
Two Saturdays ago I was supposed to go looking for apts during the day. I was going to ask her that night. Her birthday was Sunday and we were supposed to go to dinner with her parents. Saturday night was my chance. It would surprise her and be a birthday present to remember.
I made reservations at a cuban restaurant in DUMBO, and we had plans to ride over the Brooklyn Bridge on the way back, something Elle had never done. I would ask her there, the city behind us twinkling.
But, Elle decided that since it was such a nice day that we could ride bikes around Brooklyn and look at the apratments together. I thought that would be fine. We could come back in the afternoon, get cleaned up, and head out for dinner.
So we rode bikes around for 6 hours, got home, and were exhausted. She suggested we order food instead of going out. No, I said, lets go out. It will be fine. She was exhausted though, so I didn't have much of a choice.
We ordered wings.
I was freaking out. I called Kayla, told her the situation as I ran through the grocery store to get stuff to make a salad. She said it would be fine. I thought maybe I should wait. Another time, i thought. Wait for the perfect moment.
But I had been working myself up to this point for over a month now.
I lit candles, put the wings on plates instead of eating out of the styrofoam, and asked her to marry me about 15 minutes into our meal. I was sick to my stomach and Elle could tell something was up.
I got down on my knee and she offered to stand up (she was sitting criss-cross-apple sauce). I don't know what to do, she said. Do you put it on my finger? I say yes, do you put it on my finger?
Then we hugged and kissed a lot, jumped up and down and tried to figure out what to do about telling people.
Now you know. I'm engaged to the most beautiful girl. The girl of my dreams, as if I had created her myself, to my own specifications and liking. She is mine, or will be officially sometime in June (we think).
I'm a lucky, lucky young man.
