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But, wait.
Where was my long speech about how much he loved me?
Where was my poem or original song or slide-show about how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me by his side?
And, wait, again.
Where was my engagement ring?
Not that this flower ring was not beautiful,
It was. Very much so.
But, we had talked about engagement rings, and even tried on engagement rings, so this was unexpected.
I looked down at my hand, the flower gleaming off of the tanned skin on my left ring finger, and I was happy. Purely. Simply. Happy.
If this was to be the ring that donned this finger, I would wear it proudly and with great love.

At that point, my parents, sister, sister’s friend, and that dear, sweet room service delivery-lady flooded into the room, showering us with hugs, kisses and congratulations. The cell phones were broken out, calls were made, pictures were taken.
It was magical. If only I’d had the foresight to change out of those velour sweats and turquoise and fuchsia t-shirt that said something along the lines of “Poolside Couture”, or something equally as offensive. Oh well.

The room was a loud flurry of excitement, so although I was soaking it up, I was also relieved when my husband pulled me aside, so that we could enjoy a moment,
The moment,
Together.

“Let me explain about the ring,” he started.
“I love it. I truly, truly do,” I told him.
And I did.
“I know, but this isn’t your real engagement ring. We have an appointment for you to pick one out when we get home. I wanted to propose to you here, with your family, on the island, but I also want you to have the exact ring that you want, so I thought we could pick it out together. Is that okay?”
He was so nervous, I could tell.
“Um, is that okay? Isn’t that filed under ‘girl’s dream come true’?”
Okay, I so didn’t say that.
What I really said was something along the lines of,
“That sounds perfect. But I really do love my ring. I will cherish it, always.”
And I did.
And I do.
That night, we went out for an amazing dinner at our favorite restaurant on the island.
It all felt like a dream.
We told everyone who would listen about our engagement, and when they asked to see my ring, I displayed it proudly and with great joy.

That night, after dinner, we wandered around the colorful town,
Stopping in a beautiful spice shop to pick out some gifts for our friends at home.
As my husband stopped to browse through the hot sauce collection,
I was drawn to the huge wall of magnets, as my dad’s secretary, who is a part of our family, collects magnets for her desk.
I came across a magnet that said,
“Come ride with me across the sea, the best is yet to be.”
It was perfect. We had traveled together, literally across the sea, to get to this place. But, we had also traveled together across many waters, and I knew that there would be oceans and oceans more to come in our future.
I bought this magnet as a little “engagement night” gift for my husband, and we later used it to hang that most special fortune on our refrigerator door.
I still cannot believe that I got that fortune on the very night before our engagement trip. I later asked my husband about it, wondering if he could have possibly planted it there as part of his plan. Apparently, he had been just as blown away as I had when I showed him that small, white, rectangle, amazed that out of all of the fortunes, I got that one, the night before our trip to the south.
Unexpected happiness, indeed.
Today, the magnet still hangs on our refrigerator door,
Even as we have long moved out of our old townhouse
And into a home of our own.
Although my flower ring has been replaced on my finger by my real engagement ring, it is next to my bed, in it’s special, shiny shell-like box, as it is my most treasured piece of jewelry. In fact, I guess I should say that that ring is my real engagement ring.
Lucky me. I get to have both.
The best part of getting a second ring was that I got a second proposal.
When my husband and I picked out my engagement ring later that week,
A ring that we designed together, from start to finish,
It took some time to be made.
A week or so later, as I was straightening up in our bedroom, my husband came into the room and got back down on one knee, before me.
It was then that he said all that he had meant to say in St. John,
That which he was too nervous to be able to spit out at the time.
He told me all that I had wanted to hear, and so much more,
And I got to say “yes” again, as he slid my perfect, beautiful ring on my finger.

After all of the months and weeks nagging, worrying, complaining and dreaming,
I had all that I had really wanted after all.
I was marrying the man of my dreams, and I was happier than I’d ever been in my entire life.
After a short courtship, we had a longer engagement, and had the most incredible, amazing, joyous, loving wedding a year and a half later.
Don’t worry, I’ll save that story for later.

And when it came time for our honeymoon, I bet you know where we chose to go.
I’ll give you one guess.
Here’s a hint.
it starts with a S and ends with a t.John.
And on that trip, there was no nagging. No nagging at all.

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I climbed, hesitantly, out of bed, slid on a pair of velour sweatpants and made my way, slowly, to the door.
It’s funny. I was in such a rush for such a long time. But, as soon as it was actually happening to me, I wanted everything to slow down. It was as if I could sense the enormity of the moment as I was living it, and wanted to savor every instant, dragging out every second, so that I could stay enveloped in it.

I answered the door and was greeted by a lovely woman with a bright smile,
Her arms stretching to carry a mammoth tray of breakfast treats.
It was my dream breakfast,
The breakfast I had dictated to my husband on the first morning
(you know, when I was being a giant jerk)
From the Mimosa to the side order muffin, and everything in between.
I plopped back down on the Heavenly bed, ready to enjoy my feast,
Thanking the kind woman, and my husband, profusely.
My husband started to sit down with me, and then hesitated, walking back over to the closet.
“Wait,” he started. “Something’s missing from the tray. There’s one more thing that I forgot.”
And, at that moment, he pulled the most beautiful jewelry box out of his backpack.

Now, let me just say,
I may be anxious, I may be a nag, I may be relentless…but, if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a snoop.
He knew that I wouldn’t go searching through his things. Smart man.

My husband held the jewelry box in his hand, a small square made out of mother of pearl pieces, placed together so that it looked like it had been carved out of the inside of a giant clamshell. A more beautiful box, there has never been.

This was it.
Now, I really knew it.
I braced myself, ready to hear my eloquent, loving boyfriend wax poetic about his undying love for me, and all of my charms.
He got down on one knee.
(Ahhhhhh!)
He held the box in one hand and grabbed my own shaking palm in his other.
In one smooth motion, he opened the shimmering box,
And held it for me to see what was inside.

As I looked down, my head swirling in anticipation and glee, my eyes focused on what was inside of the box.
It was not an engagement ring.

More to come, and trust me, it may not be what you expect…

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The truth is,
I met my husband,
Our relationship grew,
We fell in love,
And saw a future together.

Let me just say,
Before I met my husband,
I had no intention of settling down.
I had my fantasies of getting married and starting a family, but they were in my distant horizon,
not my rear view mirror
(you know, objects may be closer than they appear).

However, as soon as we were together together, I couldn’t imagine my life without him,
And I wanted that life to start as soon as possible.
Not that I was in a rush.
Except, I kind of was.
I couldn’t wait to make things official,
to know more than just knowing that I would be his,
he would be mine,
and we would be each other’s forever.

Five months after we started dating, we made the mutual decision to move in together,
And by mutual, I mean that I probably hinted that I thought it was a good idea.
And by hinted, I mean that I probably brought it up, relentlessly, until my husband got the message.
And by message, I mean demand.
Just kidding.
I’m not that bad.
Am I?
In truth, we were ready to start our lives together in a small, yet meaningful way,
And that meant getting a place of our own.

Everyone had always told me that you never really know someone until you live with them.
Well, in that case, I not only liked what I knew, I loved what I knew.
I loved grocery shopping together, cooking dinners together,
Hanging paintings, doing our collective laundry, picking out linens,
You know, all of the small, beautiful, every day things that are so amazing when you are in love. And newly in love.

And then it came time for the ring.
No, not the engagement ring.
The Promise Ring.
When I write about the promise ring, I have a strange mix of wanting to sigh with sentimentality, and cringe with, well…cringe worthiness.
We decided to get promise rings to symbolize our promise to one another that we would be getting engaged and then married.
As much as it makes me feel a bit silly to talk about,
There was something so special and solid about being able to look down at my ring finger to see this small, thin, silver band wrapped around it.
It was a placeholder.
It holds a place in my heart.
As my mom would explain, we were “engaged to be engaged”.

So, my husband and I each walked around wearing these rings

So, whereas I looked like I was wearing a pretty, silver ring on my ring finger,
The husband totally looked married.
Hey, I was cool with it.

So, a month or two passed and my desire (read: desperation) to be engaged really kicked in. I don’t know why I felt such a strong need to make it official, but I did.
It’s like that famous quote from When Harry Met Sally. You know,
“…I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

On a muggy Friday that August, my husband and I made a plan to spend the next day in town, going to lunch and doing some shopping. Well, the night before our date, I decided to try out a new drink “set” with some of my friends.
Can you tell we were newly legal?
I know, child bride.
Well, these fun little sets came with funky martini glasses, special glass decorations and colorful rim sugar. I can’t tell you what kind of cocktails we were drinking that night, but I can tell you that they were plentiful and that they were rimmed in blue, sugary crystals.
I woke up the next morning feeling awful; nauseas, head-achey, tired, and with a bright blue mouth. I am not exaggerating, my entire mouth—lips, teeth, tongue, the works—was stained Smurf.
And little did I know what my husband had planned for us that very day…

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