Proposal

Scattered rose petals, mirroring those climbing my shirt. A bouquet of flowers which had been icing in the picnic basket, proud in the centre. Chocolate dipped strawberries I snuck off to make the day before. A glance, hopefully surreptitious, confirms the photographer is stashed in the bushes, given away by the shock of platinum hair she did her best to hide. Tilly doesn’t seem to have noticed. She is busy arranging the picnic blanket with me, humming absentmindedly. Even now, helping me homemake. Helping me make the space beautiful, make my life beautiful. She hasn’t asked what the big display is for. Has she guessed, and doesn’t want to spoil it for me? Or has she just fallen into helping me unquestioningly with whatever I choose to do? I think it reflects well on me if a rose petal scattered picnic on a Monday afternoon doesn’t read as suspicious. I hope she doesn’t know. Although she did spend a while on her makeup today.

The day is hot and muggy. The sun beats down, despite the forecasted rain which had me on edge all morning, probably acting strange and giving the game away. I’ve been planning this for months. I stand and give her a tight hug, subtly angle her body in the right direction for the perfect shot. I whisper that I love her then step back. The ring box bulges flagrant in my shorts pocket.

“The idea of not spending the rest of my life with you is preposterous.”

What if she says no? I’ll have spent a lot of money on some beautiful professional photographs of the worst moment of my life. I’ll still pay the photographer, of course I will, it’s not her fault. Knowing me, I’ll still get them framed and printed, display them around my house in bitter wallowing masked as self-deprecating irony. They will drive away any future romantic prospect I bring home. Good. I can't imagine myself loving anyone else this much - ever feeling anything as deeply as I feel in this moment. I already resent my future, heartbroken self, for trying to move on, and applaud my own sabotage. I know this is hyperbole, and everything fades with time, but this moment, I can’t imagine it ever ending.

Of course, she doesn't say no. She cries and I cry and the photographer grins and we print the pictures in an expensive album to always cherish.

I was apprehensive, for a while, to propose in a local park, even one imbued with sentimental significance for our relationship. I felt I should do it on a romantic holiday, on horseback, or on a yacht, but aside from practical reservations about concealing a photographer on a nearby horse, keeping pace with us unnoticed, it wouldn’t seem appropriate. We are not a fairytale. Our love is not one for the ages. It is not unique, the stuff of aching novels and grand displays. It is ordinary, honest, and true. Built on small moments of tenderness, a deeply held respect, and a joy in sharing the mundanity of life.

I laid one knee on a borrowed picnic blanket in our local park, with its resident cat prowling nearby, pulled out an engagement ring I could afford (just about) and asked her to honour me with the rest of her life, all its ordinary moments. And, as a bonus, she spared me a future surrounded by photographs of myself sobbing.

Photo credit: Emma Ledwith Photography

https://emmaledwith.co.uk/