The Wedding

“And of course, you’re willing to oblige.”

She raised her hands innocently. “If my friends enjoy my stories, who am I to withhold them?”

As the easy banter continued through dinner, I was conscious of everything about her. I watched as she cut the chicken into small bites before eating it, and the way her hair caught the light; I smelled the faintest trace of the jasmine gel she’d used earlier. There was no explanation for this longer-lasting newfound ease between us, and I didn’t try to understand it. I wondered if Jane even noticed. If so, she gave no indication, but then neither did I, and we lingered over dinner until the remains grew cold on the table.

The story of my proposal is indeed memorable, and it never fails to provoke gales of laughter among those who hear it.

This sharing of history is fairly common in our social circle, and when we socialize, my wife and I cease to be individuals. We are a couple, a team, and I’ve often enjoyed this interplay. We can each hop into the middle of a story that the other has begun and continue the other’s train of thought without hesitation. She might begin the story in which Leslie was leading a cheer at a football game when one of the running backs slipped near the sideline and began careening toward her. If Jane pauses, I know it is my signal to inform them that Jane was the first to leap out of her seat to make sure she was okay, because I was paralyzed with fear. But once I finally summoned the will to move, I bounded through the crowd, pushing and shoving and knocking people off balance, much like the running back a moment before. Then, in the moment I take a breath to pause, Jane easily picks up where I left off. I am amazed that neither of us seems to find this out of the ordinary, or even difficult. This give-and-take has become natural for us, and I often wonder what it is like for those who don’t know their partners quite so well. Leslie, I might add, was not injured that day. By the time we reached her, she was already reaching for her pom-poms.

But I never join in the story of my proposal. Instead I sit in silence, knowing that Jane finds it much more humorous than I. After all, I didn’t intend for it to be a humorous event. I was sure it would be a day she would always remember and hoped that she would find it romantic.

Somehow, Jane and I had made it through the year with our love intact. By late spring we were talking about getting engaged, and the only surprise was when we would make it official. I knew she wanted something special—her parents’ romance had set a high bar. When Noah and Allie were together, it seemed as if everything turned out perfectly. If it rained while they were out together—a miserable experience, most would admit—Allie and Noah would use it as an excuse to build a fire and lie beside each other, falling ever more deeply in love. If Allie was in the mood for poetry, Noah could recite a series of verses from memory. If Noah was the example, I knew I must follow his lead, and for this reason, I planned to propose to her on the beach at Ocracoke, where her family was vacationing in July.

My plan, I thought, was inspired. Quite simply, after picking out an engagement ring, I planned to hide it in the conch I had picked up the year before, with the intention that she would find it later, when we were out scouring the beach for sand dollars. When she did, I planned to drop to one knee, take her hand, and tell her that she would make me the happiest man in the world if she would consent to be my wife.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go exactly as planned. A storm was in full swing that weekend, with heavy rain and winds strong enough to make the trees bend almost horizontal. All day Saturday, I waited for the storm to abate, but nature seemed to have other ideas, and it wasn’t until midmorning Sunday that the sky began to clear.

I was more nervous than I’d imagined I would be, and I found myself mentally rehearsing exactly what I wanted to say. This sort of rote preparation had always served me well in law school, but I didn’t realize that my preparation would keep me from speaking to Jane as we made our way along the beach. I don’t know how long we continued to walk in silence, but it was long enough for the sound of Jane’s voice to startle me when she finally spoke up.

“The tide’s really coming in, isn’t it?”

I hadn’t realized that the tide would be so affected even after the storm had passed, and though I was fairly certain that the shell was safe, I didn’t want to take any chances. Concerned, I started to walk even more quickly, though I tried my best not to arouse her suspicion.

“Why the rush?” she asked me.

“Am I rushing?” I answered.

She didn’t seem satisfied with my response and finally slowed down. For a little while, until I spotted the conch, at least, I walked by myself, a few steps ahead of her. When I saw the high-water marks in the sand near the shell, I knew we had time. Not a lot, but I felt myself relax a bit.

I turned to say something to Jane, unaware that she had already stopped a little ways back. She was bending toward the sand, one arm extended, and I knew exactly what she was doing. Whenever she was at the beach, Jane had a habit of looking for tiny sand dollars. The best ones, the ones she kept, were paper-thin and translucent, no larger than a fingernail.

“Come quick!” she called out without looking up. “There’s a whole bunch right here.”

The conch with the ring was twenty yards ahead of me, Jane was twenty yards behind. Finally realizing that we’d barely said more than a few words to each other since we’d been on the beach, I decided to go to Jane. When I reached her, she held up a sand dollar before me, balancing it like a contact lens on the tip of her finger.

“Look at this one.”

It was the smallest one we’d found. After handing it to me, she bent over again to start looking for more.

I joined her in the search with the intention of gradually leading her to the conch, but Jane continued to hover in the same spot no matter how far I moved away. I had to keep glancing up every few seconds to make sure the shell was still safe.

“What are you looking at?” Jane finally asked me.

“Nothing,” I said. Still, I felt compelled to look again a few moments later, and when Jane caught me, she raised an eyebrow uncertainly.

As the tide continued to rise, I realized we were running out of time. Still, Jane hovered in the same spot. She had found two more sand dollars that were even smaller than the first and she seemed to have no intention of moving. At last, not knowing what else to do, I pretended to notice the shell in the distance.