Her Story
Well, after being together for almost five years and expecting a proposal all summer long, I came to terms with the fact that this was how it was going to be. I would be attending friends' weddings, knowing I too had put in my time, but "sans ring." This was okay, though; we were happy and busy, with him working on an economics Ph.D. and me making a mad dash trying to finish grad school. We had even flipped a house together, and any couple that has done that knows that if you both come out alive at the finish line, you're doing something right!
The night before we hit the voting booth (yes, with matching Obama shirts), I thought about how long we had been together and what it would be like to be engaged. And then… I freaked out. I've been a "girlfriend" for close to five years; was I really ready to be a fiancee? Change is scary, even when it's just a societal label, and so unfortunately I believe I relayed this message to Ben; this was not the right time for us to take the next step. But alas, I still had my hopes up that one day my time would come. I just didn't think it would be the next day.
We decided to sleep in and take our chances with the voting booth lines. I had also insisted on him bringing a camera to take a picture of me voting. We had been in Florida for the last election, and I wanted proof that my vote counted this time! Standing in line for half an hour was relatively painless, but it did give me time to notice that his jacket pocket looked strange, and I asked him what he was carrying. He replied that it was the camera, and I accepted that answer, not knowing it was actually a box with something inside that would change my life forever.
Later that day he asked me to take our dog for a walk, which took some convincing, but we got out the door. Looking back, he seemed to know where he was going, but at the time I felt it was one of our usual walks around our neighborhood. He stopped in the middle of the park and then… nothing. Everything went blank. I saw nothing, heard nothing, spoke nothing. I was in shock. This was not happening. After waiting and waiting and waiting, this is how I react? Apparently when he asked me to marry him, I still didn't get the picture. It took four times of asking before I finally could form the word "Yes." Then I saw a woman taking our picture out of the corner of my eye. I reported to Ben that I thought it was so strange that someone happened to have a camera and was invested in this moment in our lives. He then told me that he had hired her, knowing I love when people can see their own reaction to big moments like these.
And that was that. Although that day my label changed, my feelings continue to be the same. There's just one difference: I can now buy Brides magazines out in the open, and no longer have to secretly acquire them through airport convenience stores.
His Story
Rebecca and I are up late Monday, November 3rd, discussing life—as a couple that have been dating five years tends to do—and she starts saying how she doesn't think now is a good time to get engaged. Great! She had been expecting it all summer, and now that I'm ready, she regresses. Just what every soon-to-be fiance wants to have going through his head the night before he planned on popping the question, as if I wasn't nervous enough.
Jump to Tuesday morning. The first thing Rebecca says to me is, "I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what was wrong with me." I breathe a sigh of relief and we go vote in the most important election of our lifetime. We're out of the voting booths around noon, and then we run a quick errand. Little does Rebecca know I've hired a photographer to hide in the bushes of a nearby park to snap some pictures at 1:30. She's always mentioned that she would love pictures of the moment to see her own reaction, and I think it's so important to capture moments that will never happen again, because our memories are only so accurate.
Kelly Lorenz is a fabulous local photographer whose studio I've walked by, and after browsing through her blog and website, I knew she'd be perfect for the situation. After about a week and a half of back-and-forth emailing (phone calls would be too obvious), we finally got a plan of where she'll hide, where we should stand, etc.
Back to the moment: we get home around 1:15 or so, and I convince Rebecca to take the dog for a walk with me. I was actually so nervous about making sure Rebecca would be available at this time that I brought up the dog walk the night before, which must have struck her as odd. We get to the park, and I make sure that Kelly is there somewhere, and turn Rebecca to face me. I say, "I'm glad you feel better about what we were talking about last night, because I don't think I could wait much longer to spend the rest of my life with you," and cue the knee drop, the ring, and Rebecca's jaw dropping.
As much of a cliche as it is, I really don't remember what came out of my mouth afterwards. I have a feeling that I didn't say what I was planning on, but I do remember asking her four times if she said yes (she finally did). I feel like it was the perfect moment: we're wearing what we normally wear, we're doing what we normally do, and we're in our neighborhood. There was nothing extravagant like a hot-air balloon ride or fireworks over the harbor, but everything was perfect. I always wanted my engagement to be a surprise, because I feel if there's anything that gives it away in advance, it takes away from the moment. We were in our own moment, and it's the best moment of my life.
