Now what?

Here's the thing about getting engaged: after the question is popped and the hugs and kisses have ebbed, you're left sitting there staring at each other.  I *loved* the way Jeff proposed and I wouldn't have wanted anything different.  But after he did, after we kissed, after we squealed and clapped and took a bajillion pictures of the bling, we were just...sitting there.  The day was suddenly too special to just talk about bills and weekend plans, and we didn't yet have anything wedding-related to say.  Neither of us wanted to be the one to suggest getting up and leaving, or to change the subject to what we should do for dinner.  Maybe this is different for other couples, but for us it was sort of...awkward.

Not this awkward.  But still awkward.  In a different way.

It felt like the world had changed, just enough for us to notice.  It's like when you walk into a room you've sat in a thousand times, and someone has moved the coffee table a half-inch to the left.  You know something is different, but you can't exactly put your finger on what it is, and you can't change it back.  So you just have to wait for it to feel normal the way it is now.

Eventually, the museum was closing and we were forced to pack up our picnic and get moving.  The line for the tram was ridiculously long, so we decided to take the long walk down the hill to the parking garage. On the way, for lack of something better to say, I asked "Are you sure you want to marry me?" about ten thousand times, until Jeff threatened to take the ring away if I didn't stop.  I giggled.  I said over and over "We're engaged, oh my gosh we're engaged!"  I kept pausing to kiss him, almost certainly making everyone walking near us at least a little uncomfortable.  It was obnoxious.  But I didn't really know how else to act.  I was incredibly excited and happy and giddy, but I also felt like I was on display.  Like this moment would be remembered forever, so I had to get it right. 

I'm happy to say, it started to feel "normal" on the car ride home.  And once we were at home, champagne helped.  And the rest of the night was wonderful and special and not at all weird.  I still feel like an ass when I think about how awkward I was in that first hour, but I'm happy to report that ever since, we've been back to normal...or, at least, the "new" normal.

The Beginning

Jeff is not what you'd call a calm person.  He is not focused, nor in any way "zen".  So I knew something was up when, in the car on the way to the museum, he was incredibly present.  In the two years we'd been together I'd never seen him so in the moment, so undistractable.  Usually if I ask him, for example, "What do you think of this shirt I just bought?" he will answer somewhere on the spectrum of "Hey, that's shiny.  My new engine is shiny too.  Oh, I forgot to tell you we're going off-roading in the desert this weekend.  You can come, right?  Matt's coming, and did I mention I ran into Beth the other day...."

I'm pretty sure that's how his thought process goes, usually.

Yeah.  Focused he is not.  But today, rather than a mad cross-country dash from one thought to the next, he was strolling leisurely through our conversation.  He was aware.  It was weird.

We got to the Getty Center and first thing laid a blanket on the lawn and set up our picnic: stinky cheeses, fruit, crackers.  We people-watched.  We commented on the weather.  We chatted about our week.  He mentioned over and over and OVER how happy he was.

Then.  He kissed me (it was PG, promise).  I noticed him fidgeting in his cargo pocket, and assumed he was looking for his phone.  He held the kiss for a looooong time.  Finally I pulled away.  He was breathing hard.
He asked, "Can I ask you a question?"
My heart started racing.  I said, "Of course."
He took a deep breath.  "What?" I asked.  Things started to get blurry.
He blinked, leaned back, and, with a quivering smile said, "Will you marry me?"
I looked down, and he was holding a box.  The box had a ring.  I looked back at him.  Back at the ring.  Smiled like an idiot.  "Really?!"  I asked.  I don't think this was as loud as it sounded in my head.  At least I hope it wasn't.  I think I squealed.
Jeff laughed.  "Yes, really."
"Of course!"  I said, and I clapped.  Yes, I applauded my own engagement.  Someone had to, right?
I looked back at the ring, nervously.  I almost didn't want to see it...what if it was all wrong?  I tried not to get my hopes up.  But, when I looked down, it was perfect.  Solitaire, round-cut, white gold.  I squealed again.  I said, "Can I put it on?"  Because he was just sitting there, smiling.  Still holding the box open with the ring inside.
"What if it doesn't fit?" he asked.
"Well, let's try."
He took it out of the box.  "Um, which finger does it go on?" he asked.  I showed him.  He slipped it on.  Like a freaking glove.  I smiled again.  I said "Really?" again and again, then threw my arms around his neck.  "We're getting married!" I stage-whispered into his ear.

 The perfect ring.

And that's how it started.  Well, I suppose the argument could be made that it started when we moved in together, or when we became a couple, or--perhaps more accurately--the day our friends introduced us.  But for simplicity's sake, let's just call this the beginning.  This is the moment that kicks off the wedding-planning madness, that makes us start answering questions about when we'll buy a house, when we'll start having kids, how our careers will shape one another's.  This is the beginning of our life together, the beginning of our future family.  This, folks, is the starting line.