By this time, we had moved out of the drunk-laden frozen tundra of the duplex in Austin and into an over-under duplex. Money was still tight, but we were in much better shape, on the top floor, using the staircase as our multilevel library. We had a screened porch that was six square feet.
One blazing hot summer Sunday we went on a picnic. He took me to some park that I don't remember, hadn't seen before. That day he told me he was never getting married again--not to anyone. He couldn't imagine doing any such thing--your whole life? With one person? Give him a break. Let's just stick with this very good Now.
Maybe you won't believe this, but I was not hinting for marriage, my girlfriends weren't getting married, and my parents didn't live close enough for me to talk about/try for/defy what they wanted, etc etc. But I was blindsided: I hadn't excluded the possibility. I'd even hoped. But I was more interested in us, and fixing the apartment, getting to work, designing and sewing clothes to sell on consignment, and having fun with all of it.
Well, that picnic was rained out on Sunday.
I had a few scattered showers on Monday.
Tuesday was my day off. I put on the Eurhythmics and danced all over the house for hours. I guess you could call it an affirmation dance. Something like an end-to-the-rain dance.
"You're an idiot," I told him when he got home from work. "You'll never find anybody more suited to you than me." He smiled and agreed. So I think I repaired my pride. I think we fixed dinner after that.
That was, oh, July? I was over it then, back in the very good Now.
In November, we had an argument. Something dumb, no doubt.
I was tearfully apologizing. He says, "Will you marry me?"
"Why are you asking me this now?" I cried. "My nose is red."
"I love you even now, so it seems like the right time." Blindsided again.
In a way, he was asking me to marry him in July.
But what didn't occur to me until just now--maybe he wanted to know
my intentions--(?)
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