I'm Engaged! And I Can't Stop Talking About It!
Allow me a recap, if only for my memory's sake.
I woke up with a stye for the first time in years, which more or less meant that my day would be shit. I wouldn’t call myself vain (that requires a level of confidence I don’t think I’ll ever possess), but I’m certainly narcissistic, in that I’m the kind of person who works themself into a terrible mood when I’m unhappy with my own appearance — and it was definitely that kind of day.
That said, I didn’t bother putting too much effort into my appearance for brunch. Partly because I knew my makeup wouldn’t look all that great with a massive stye, but largely because I spent the better part of my getting-ready time rinsing the tie-dye creations Pat and I had made as part of our date the night before.
The tie-dye pieces required a thorough rinse-out before a full-on wash-and-dry, and I was determined to have everything clean and dry to change into after brunch. If I couldn’t look good during the day, I might as well enjoy the luxury of going full comfort-mode in a pair of tie-dye sweats that night, right?
With the promise of an uneventful evening in rainbow sweatpants as my consolation prize for a painful stye, I vented to my Cousins group chat and tried to figure out an outfit. The options really ran the gamut, from a white floral Mara Hoffman corset top styled with trousers and sneakers to a Madewell cerulean skip skirt and matching blouse.
In the end, I landed on a longline black vest top from Future Collective, a tan midi skirt, my go-to black Boden espadrilles and my trusty Prada Galleria. (Oh, and my pashmina. I practice what I preach!) Pat wore a green linen shirt from Charles Tyrwhitt, Bonobos pants and his trusty Magnanni Herrera loafers. He’d been gifted the shirt and the shoes — what an influencer!
Pat and I were meeting our friend, Akash, at The Paris Café in Seaport, not terribly far from my old apartment in the Financial District. When we first started dating, Pat would often take the ferry from Hoboken to Brookfield Terminal to meet me. Today, we were taking the same ferry over to brunch.
Just beside the ferry terminal is Rockefeller Park, and the most perfectly understated duck pond decorated with just a few benches, peace and quiet. It was once the perfect middle ground between our two homes, a place for us to meet before heading out on dates — and a spot I’d always hinted would be perfect for a proposal. Special, sentimental, public but not too public. Pat often agreed when I mentioned it, but I always assumed he’d actually propose down the shore, as it would be more convenient for my family to be with us immediately after.
In hindsight, it seems wild that I didn’t notice the signs. The look of sheer terror on his face when I first asked if he thought the white Mara Hoffman corset was a good option for brunch (It looks uncannily like the top of a wedding dress. I learned later that it was at this point he texted my sisters in a panic, certain I knew.). Or the way he made note of the overcast weather on the boat ride over, asking if it was good for photos (My reply? “Yes, but who cares? I’m not taking any photos today, I have a stye.”).
When we arrived too early for brunch and he suggested waiting by the duck pond, I still didn’t know what was about to go down. In fact, I’m embarrassed to admit what was going through my mind: The duck pond! OMG, he is definitely going to propose here at the end of the month, or maybe next month. He must be using this brunch as a run-through to ensure the ferry-to-pond route will work out smoothly.
Yep, I thought this was the dress rehearsal! There I was, yapping on about the number of ducks in the water and Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way (for reasons I can’t recall), when he finally looked at me and said, “This is it.”
“Huh?”
“This is it,” he repeated, and it finally clicked. This was no run-through. It was the real thing.
Cue the tears from me, the long speech with my full name and the promise to love me forever from him. He was down on one knee — both of us keenly aware that we were, embarrassingly, the exact same height in this new position. The ring we had chosen so many months before looked ridiculously big and bright in its little brown box.
I couldn’t stop crying, even as I became acutely aware of the photographer to our right and both my sisters to our left. To be loved, to be understood, to be genuinely surprised. It was too damn much!
It was then I learned how much work went into the thing that unfolded in just a quick boat ride and a matter of minutes. Pat had mocked up renderings of exactly where he wanted us to be in front of the pond, making sure my sisters and the photographer were aware well in advance.
My sister, Sophia, had even recruited a local friend to keep the area clear as we approached the pond — it felt very Truman Show to learn that the girl and her puppy on the bench beside us knew exactly who we were when I’d barely noticed them, aside from giving a small wave to the dog as we approached.
When they finally got me to stop crying for a few seconds, my sisters urged me to fix my makeup so that the photographer could take a few more photos. A wonderful idea — except I hadn’t brought any makeup, because I had a stye.
I’ve made a living off of photos and videos in which I’m trying my hardest to present my very best self, and there I was, on the most important day of my life, getting my photo taken in a thrown-together outfit, with tear-streaked foundation and crusty mascara coating an unsightly stye. I looked heinous; I felt amazing.
After this, we took the ferry back home (Akash, we still need to get brunch!) and I had the opportunity to change (back on the Mara Hoffman corset went!) before meeting up with our families and some friends to celebrate. Cue more crying, champagne, cheesesteak egg rolls and, yes, even more crying. Apparently, waterworks are my repeat reaction to finding out I get to spend the rest of my life with the person I love.
Hours later, we found ourselves back home, sat on our couch in our new tie-dye tees and sweats. It was exactly the evening I’d hoped for earlier that day — except the hours in between had contained more than I could’ve ever imagine.
You might be thinking, “Wow B, you didn’t really need an 1100 word essay to tell us he took you to the duck pond and popped the question”. And that’s a fair point! But I’ve been recapping it every second since — to my friends, over text, at work events, and in my head — and it feels good to know that it can live here on B List forever, so that I can reminisce and re-read it all as often as I see fit.
Pat and I met on Hinge in 2021. We matched, chatted about our favorite bagels, and made plans to go out. When he didn’t text me to re-confirm our first date the day before, I knew not to hold my breath. The next day, he finally texted to cancel, and I had the pleasure of telling him I’d already made other plans. He must’ve been impressed, because I heard from him the next week with another invite confirming the time and place of a re-do date.
I was intent to go, drink, have a good time, and never see this person again. After all, he’d practically stood me up! But not long into the date, he looked me in the eye and said, “I can’t believe I could’ve met you last week.”
Cute, right? But my wall was still up. “I know — your loss!” It took a few more dates for him to tell me why he’d cancelled that first time (like me, he’d been on a billion Hinge dates, and just couldn’t stomach the thought of another) and a few more after that for me to realize I didn’t want to date anyone else, ever again. In fact, we both actively tried to pursue dating other people, but found ourselves wanting to be with each other. So we made it official, and here we are.
All this to say, humor me as I enter my fiancée era. I swiped on a silly little app and found the person who understands, appreciates and values me the way I believe everyone deserves to be understood, appreciated, and valued. Surely, that’s worth celebrating.
🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
Oh cue the tears AGAIN .. this is beautiful 😭