It’s a ridiculously hot day in July. Since we both work in Plano, it had become a habit to pack our suits and head to Chad’s parents’ house for a Friday poolside happy hour – just the two of us.
We get to the house and change into our bathing suits. I pour myself a glass of chardonnay – in a plastic cup, of course, as I don’t trust myself with glass around the pool anymore. I head to the backyard. The wonderful oasis of a cool 75-degree freshwater pool is calling my name. A hot, sticky day out, I wipe the glimmering beads of sweat on my forehead. Take a sip of wine. Dip one toe and saunter right in. Chad walks out with a beer in one hand, ipod in another. He jumps in after me. Ripples from the water aggressively move me from this side to that as I try to stay seated. We sit, relax and chat about our day. Reggae tunes play in the background. I finish my wine and Chad had long finished his. My laziness and ability to go long hours without alcohol keep me from offering to get out to refill our drinks. Finally, Chad agrees to top us off. I wait patiently in the pool. And wait. And wait. It’s been several minutes. I hear the door close. I turn around. Chad approaches with a silver platter topped with a silver cover.
Me: WHAT is that?!
Me: (in my head I’m thinking “oooh cheesecake!” why cheesecake? I’m not sure.) Dessert? Yum OK! (this is when things start to finally kind of click in my head)
Chad sets the platter down. I swim over. I look at him. He looks at me. He pulls open the cover, and the Tiffany’s box staring me in the face said it all: I’m getting engaged.
Chad: Will you marry me?
Me: Oh my gawd this is crazy! YES! This is so crazy!!!
I finally stop saying how crazy this is. Chad pops open a bottle of champagne and pours us two (plastic) glasses. We sit. We think. We calm down. Relax. We drink our bubbly glasses of champagne. We’re happy. We’re engaged. We’re getting married. And this is the beginning of the rest of our lives.