n my 30th birthday, I found a jewelry box in my boyfriend’s pocket and thought nine years of waiting were finally over. Instead, he told me I wasn’t “wife material.” The next day, he came home to find me looking like he’d never seen me before.
Simon’s parents threw me a thirtieth birthday dinner at their place, since my family lived across the country. Halfway through, I slipped into the hallway for my lip balm and knocked Simon’s jacket off its hook.
Something small and hard hit the floor.
“Oh my God.”
A velvet jewelry box.
“Oh my God.”
A velvet jewelry box.
I picked it up with both hands, like it might break. Is this what I think it is?
Nine years.
We’d met in college and moved in together because it just made sense. Now we shared everything: bills, holidays, a dog named Pepper who technically belonged to Simon but slept on my side of the bed.
“So when is he going to propose?” my friends kept asking.
“It’ll happen when it happens,” I always said.
Nine years.
I almost opened it. But I pictured Simon down on one knee, and I didn’t want to ruin it for him. So I slid the box back into his pocket, fixed my face, and went back to the table.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Simon asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you know something.”
“Maybe I do.”
“So when is he going to propose?”
His father looked between us. “Oh, God. Are we finally doing this?”
“Doing what?” Simon asked.
His father raised his glass. “At this rate, you two are going to beat your mother and me for the longest engagement without actually being engaged.”
Everyone laughed. I looked at Simon. Here we go.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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