20: Will You Marry Me… Again?

20: Will You Marry Me… Again?

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Here Comes the Bride

Will You Marry Me… Again?

When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion.

~Dale Carnegie

My ring had gotten a little more “slippy” than I’d prefer for true peace of mind. Adam still wouldn’t tell me what he paid, but even if he’d traded an old couch and a bag of cat food for it, losing it would break my heart. So, we decided to resize. This sounds so easy. All my engaged and married friends know all about it, went through it, and totally understand it. This doesn’t make it any less scary. Kind of like going to the OB/GYN. Totally normal and yet completely terrifying.

Also, to add to the panic, the jewelry place that has been in the Shops at Mission Viejo for thirty-five years — the place that assured Adam that they weren’t going anywhere, that they were as reliable as the sun itself — was closing. So we had to bite the bullet and resize the ring right away.

The guy at the jewelry place remembered Adam (he made multiple stops “just to visit” during the process of purchasing the ring) and called me the “lucky girl,” which made me blush and Adam grin with pride. It all happened so fast. Before I knew it, the ring was off and signed for, a new size tried on, and a receipt was handed to us. We were told it would be two weeks, and before I knew it I was standing on the sidewalk outside the mall, eyes brimming with tears and my left hand feeling oh-so-naked. Adam was squeezing me, half sad that I was sad, but half over-the-moon about it since those tears meant that I REALLY LIKED HIS RING.

He tried to buy me a fake ring, you know, the kind you wear home from Spring Break junior year to freak out your mom, but I refused, absolutely sure that I could tough it out. We went to Chili’s, but I didn’t even make it out of the car before I started crying again. Side note: Getting engaged completely sets off your it’s-okay-to-cry-about-everything meter.

We made it through dinner and the rest of the night, and I only teared up several times. The next night, Adam came over for dinner, and I was cooking in my tiny kitchen with my back to him.

“Hey,” he said.

I turned around, and he was on one knee between the counter and couch, holding up a ring box and a very sparkly replacement ring, with his eyes shining, smiling up at me.

“Will you marry me... again?” he asked.

Guess what I said.

I wore the fake ring for two weeks, and I wear the real one every day now, two years after our wedding day. But any time I take it off or Adam holds it for any reason, I see that image in my mind — once on a snowdrift in Sequoia National Park, once in my tiny apartment kitchen — the love of my life asking for the privilege of being with me, forever. And even if he asks a million times, my answer will always be: yes.

~Dani Nichols

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