My Precious

We're engaged!

The night I said yes to forever

I am sat at the lights. My car idles, an audiobook playing through the speakers, but my attention has slipped away from the story. Instead my attention has been drawn to my hand. This is happening more and more these days. I’m like a magpie becoming transfixed by the shiny thing that now lives on my left hand. It is my favourite accessory and the best thing I’ve ever owned. It’s my engagement ring. It’s an antique ring with a trio of opals on a delicate gold band. I never wanted a diamond; they personally do nothing for me. But opals… they are another matter entirely. They are my birthstone for one, and connect me to my second home (Australia), not to mention they are so very beautiful. The opals in my engagement ring are a kaleidoscope of colour - being blue, green, pink and orange all at once. I can move it around in the sunlight and different colours become illuminated. It’s like having the shifting afternoon sky captured in miniature on my finger. And I am doing exactly that when a car behind me leans on their horn and honks me back to reality. The light is green. I hadn’t noticed it change.

I’d like to say that this was the first or indeed the last time this happened, but that’d be a lie. Since June, when the ring took up residency on my finger, I have missed a few green lights. I find myself gazing at it, the rest of the world dropping away. I am Gollum, reduced to nothing more than an obsession with a ring. The only difference being that this isn’t a ring of absolute seductive power, but one of love.

I’ve never been one of those girls that dreamed of getting married. I didn’t want to be a bride, I wasn’t too worried about the white dress or the ring or the husband. Admittedly I spent most of my teens and twenties convinced I wouldn’t survive past 30. So, I am surprised by how captivated I am by my engagement ring. The promise it represents and the man that made it being the most compelling aspect of my devotion to my new piece of jewellery.

Now, Michael proposing wasn’t a complete surprise. I mean we’ve been together for 4 years and are both in our early thirties and deliriously in love. We are a modern couple that communicates exceptionally well and I’d made my wish to be engaged known. There was no hint dropping from me, just an honest expression of my wish to be married one day. I showed him a selection of engagement rings and where they could be purchased.

I would look at my favourite one when I was stuck at work, or bored or stressed. But not long after I showed this particular one to Michael, it was sold. And so I spent a few months frantically trying to find a ring with a similar design, sulking at the loss of a ring that wasn’t even mine to loose. It had been a while since we spoken about it, but as our 4-year anniversary approached I dared to hope. Not to mention Michael had accidentally dropped some hints. So, in the lead up to the big day I tentatively got my nails done, and my legs waxed (confiding in the technicians). I was desperately trying not to get my hopes up, whilst simultaneously having sky-high hopes. I avoided talking about it with friends as if this would jinx it. I obsessed over what I would wear to dinner, and how I would do my hair – not that any of that stuff really matters but still it was all that was in my control. I hoped he wouldn’t do it at the restaurant, and that I liked the ring. I worked myself into quite a state and come the actual night in question I was a mess.

It’d been a while since we’d been on a ‘date’. Michael’s injury and my insane work schedule meant that such things had taken a temporary back seat. I picked the restaurant, an Italian place a short drive from home. I dressed in all black, and cut my bangs back in especially for the occasion. At the start of the night we were a little awkward, a little formal. All those first date nerves came rushing back. That’s the thing; even now Michael can still give me butterflies – his smile rendering me senseless. I can’t remember much about the meal, other than it was delicious and that we had fun. But we always have fun. Being with Michael makes everything fun. I mean he managed to make a trip to the emergency room enjoyable.

We floated home on a shared cloud of euphoria. Fuck, I love this man so much. At that point I didn’t even care (okay I still cared a little) if he proposed or not. We got home and Michael immediately traded his jeans for track pants. Now this convinced me that it definitely wasn’t happening. Surely no one proposes in track pants.

It was present time. Michael, not taking present giving to be the competitive sport that I do, had the items I had specifically asked for – two obscenely priced soft toys and three books (I always ask for books). Then there were two more presents wrapped in left over Christmas wrapping paper. Michael placed them on my lap. I was on the couch and he was sitting on the floor before me. In all the excitement of presents I hadn’t noticed what an odd thing this was.

Before I could open the last present Michael got on one knee and pulled a ring box from his pocket (he later explained that the ring box didn’t fit in his jean pocket, hence the track pants) and then he asked me to marry him. In typical Michael style, he didn’t just wing it, he’d written and memorized a speech. It was this speech that he’d typed up (using the typewriter I gifted him on our first Christmas together) and framed. Not just once, but twice. There is now one in our living room and one beside my bed. I have a photo of it on my phone and a voice note I made Michael record for me so I can listen to it whenever I’m feeling down. It’s the best mood stabiliser I’ve ever been on. I have also asked Michael to repeat the speech on demand – he still remembers it – at random intervals.

It was a surreal moment, and the best of my life. Of course I said yes.

And the ring, well, the ring was the one that I’d been pining after. The one that sold all those months ago. Michael told me that the day after I’d shown it to him, he bought it and his sister had been keeping it safe for the last 9 months.

It was all just so perfect.

Even though it was a little big I insisted on wearing it immediately. Taking it off only briefly to have it resized. I’d only had it for a day and giving it up made my finger feel naked and exposed. I hated being with out it. So, once I got it back I haven’t taken it off again. And I never plan too.