I'm at David's Bridal, as a junior stylist. At least I get to be around wedding dresses, which I love. They're not Elie Saab collections, but they're a reasonable price and they're beautiful anyways.
Day 19: A conversation you regret never having
"Marry me."
There, that'll do it. Simple, to the point, and impossible to mistake for any other request. I smile victoriously down at the open ring box in my hand. Brilliant cut, almost a full carat, 24K gold band.
Perfect.
"Fuck."
I've been so busy playing propose to myself that I'm already running late to pick up my girlfriend for dinner. Don't want to be late for this dinner. The reservations took me two weeks to get, and she loves this restaurant.
I rush to finish my tie and shrug on my suit jacket. The ring box will be safe tucked into my pocket, I hope. I'll get down on one knee when the server comes out with champagne, kneel and pull it out. Yeah, I think dreamily, that's perfect.
"Ouch!"
In my daze of perfect daydreaming I opened the door but managed to walk into the door frame. The first thing I check for is the ring. Phew, still there.
She looks perfect. This is perfect. Hurry up and doll so I can get dessert and champagne!
I try not to show nerves and stare at my girlfriend instead. She's in a new dress, silky pink that drapes delicately and backless. Beautiful diamond earrings (my last Christmas gift) that'll match the ring I got her perfectly.
Finally!
I wanted to cry for rejoice as she at last finishes with the asparagus on her steak plate. I've been staring at her eating for 10 minutes already. I make eye contact with our waiter and nod slightly. giving him the agreed upon signal.
He brings out our dessert, some kind of classic French fruit tart, and two glasses of champagne.
"To us," I smile and offer a toast. She responds with a smile - God she's beautiful - and giggles. It is our dating anniversary. We met 4 years ago today.
I wait until she has her first sip, then decide it's time.
"Mina," I kneel, "Marry me."
KILLED IT.
I pop the ring box open and smile up at her expectantly.
Waitwaitwait. She's not jumping up and down and saying yes. What's going on? I start to panic, and freeze stupidly in place, still smiling vacantly and holding open the damn box. The other diners are turning to look at us.
"Brett, uhm, let's talk about it in the car. Can you get the check?"
And she runs off, just like that. I'm left staring at her, still kneeling. My knee is starting to hurt.
Our waiter comes over and helps me up. He gives me a commiserating pat on the back and waived the champagne and dessert fee. I sit back down, stare at her empty seat, then eat the tart vengefully. I downed my glass of the champagne, paid for the rest of the dinner, and left, to the murmuring of the other patrons.
Outside Mina was waiting for me, damn her.
"You can walk ho-"
"Yes. Yes I will marry you, but not with that ring, Brett."
I blink and open my mouth stupidly at her without forming words. It takes a moment for her words to sink in properly.
"You are marrying me?"
"Nothing better I'd like to do."
"Then why didn't you accept in the restaurant?"
"Because of the ring. I didn't want to accept then not wear it, but Brett-"
"I worked really hard to pick out this ring, you said you like brilliant cut, I looked it up! This is a brilliant cut! It's clear, colourless, I did the whole 4 Cs thing! What's wrong with it?"
"I'm allergic to gold you dumbass."
"You-!"
I swallow back the rest of my words and stare at her. In 4 years, how would I have not...
"Since when?"
"Always."
"But you wear..."
She's won, I can see it on her face. In all my limited memory of her jewellery she's never worn gold.
"Marry ME, Brett, I'll even help you find a ring that won't give me hives. And while we're at it, I'm allergic to saffron, so no paella at the wedding, please."
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