Ted and I were having a perfectly lovely conversation, when he inserted his usual: "So, are you flying out here this weekend?" Never mind that the last time I flew out there for a weekend he stood me up. I told him he would have to wait two months. My plans are to fly to Utah at the end of October. "Still?" he asked. "Because if I have to wait for Kevin to propose before you fly out here, I may never see you." He wasn't just being his usual jocular jackass self. He had an I'm-saying-this-because-I-love-you undertone. And that really annoyed me. More than annoyed, actually, it hurt me.
Over Thanksgiving weekend 2007, Kevin told me that he wants to marry me. And I have been acting since that time on the assumption that he means it. I dropped a minor to graduate earlier and then moved a third of the way across the country, again, to be near him. And I have not cut and run despite the rejection I feel every time he says "I don't know" when I broach the subject of marriage. I have put up with thoughtless comments from nosey people about our relationship, which is none of their business, and I confidently picked out a ring and (less confidently) emailed the picture to Kevin. I have asked my family about their vacation plans and work schedules. I have met with the VP at work to arrange to take time off this fall. And even though Kevin said in June that I might need to sign a new lease, as getting married by August wasn't feasible, I managed to stall. I have put my stuff in storage, moved my books to Kevin's apartment with my TV, and taken up residence on Audrei's couch.
In every way that I can possibly conceive, I have acted on the assumption that Kevin will propose.
And Ted is not the only one who does not believe that he will.
I got it from Mom that same night, a mere half hour after Ted's phone call. Where I had been silently wounded with Ted, I grew vocal and angry with my mom. "I know it frustrates you not to know my plans. But I do not have an answer for you. I. Don't. Know. I didn't tell you to reserve a date, so just make your vacation plans! Why ask me?" That was not enough for her. She wanted to know how long she had to make a wedding dress. A wedding dress that I have told her I will not be wearing, as Kevin and I aren't interested in having a reception. I'd look silly hanging out at family dinner in a wedding dress. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
Am I sure that's what I want? How to answer that?
I hate wedding receptions. They're wasteful, of both time and money. The expectations of wedding receptions would put me in the poor house, if I could escape the loony bin after my brain rotted out from planning color schemes and finger foods. Receptions are flagrant displays of materialism. Not to mention boring. Merciful heavens, are they boring! I picture, instead, a family party with lots of simple food and lots of talking. I want to hang out with my friends and see if Ted or April will bust out a guitar. I want to play Carcassonne and carry my nephew around. A wedding dress doesn't fit in that scenario. I'm the girl who wants to go hiking for her honeymoon. I like things down to earth.
But sometimes...when I begin to feel like I'm on the clearance rack and my price tag has been slashed through with a red pen again and still no one is buying, then I get angry. When I talk about eloping even though I have no ring, I begin to see the merit in a real wedding reception. Those are the time when I crave a wedding gown and a diamond engagement ring, when my own tastes become secondary to the price I hope to exact on my behalf. I want my pound of flesh, my eight cows, my seven years' labor.
But, no, I don't really want a wedding dress.
I just want Kevin to propose, to act, like I have done, on the assumption that he wants to marry me.
Because sometimes, every so often, I think as Ted does, and I wonder what I'm doing on this couch, why I have no books, no home, no plans. My living situation has become a very visible and apt metaphor for my internal limbo, and I know that I can't stay on the couch forever.
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