“Did we just get pre-engaged last Sunday,” I asked him via text.
It was one very late night and I was pretty sure he was already crashed out, so I prayed that the message tone wouldn’t stir him up. It was meant to be read at a later time.
I had added a “haha” to connote that the question was not a pressing one. I had also used the term “pre-engaged” because I did feel kind of engaged…and kind of not. He did not really pop the question. There was no kneeling down on one knee with an amazing diamond ring, nor was there an over-the-top flash mob — just one Sunday night sitting side by side at a musical event and then him uttering something about us getting married.
It wasn’t the first time he brought that up: Earlier that Sunday, we had snuck out of the venue to get something to eat. He said he was starving. Fortunately for him, there was 7-11 so off we went. We got ourselves a table and began munching our way through a cup of noodles and Pringles.
“My parents wanted us to get married already.”
He said it as casually as he could before slurping his noodles. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but smirk. A self-satisfied smirk. He could have glared at me for that, but he sort of discounted it and just went on by saying how his mom had been telling him about her plan to give up work just so she could help us raise our future child, the plans to do this and that, plans, plans, plans, and some more plans.
“I love your parents for thinking that much about us,” I said slowly. “But are we ready?”
A sobering silence hovered over us. You could have heard the cash register ringing. Then his phone beeped. It was Kim the bassist asking where we were. He typed out a reply, hit the send button, and transferred his gaze from his cell phone to me. He smiled. You know the kind of smile that always warms a girl’s heart. That.
I smiled back, popped the rest of the chips into my mouth, wiped my finger on my jeans, and reached for his hand. We left the store back to the venue with our unspoken words still hanging in the air.
So that was the first time. Later that night, as we were sitting side by side waiting for his band to take the stage, he brought it up again.
“Let’s get married. You and I. In three years time.”
I paused. I mean, squealing could have been the most reasonable way of responding to lines like that, but I just swallowed, brought my eyes up, met his steady gaze, and composed myself.
(Related Post: Question 1129)