a thousand times, yes

October 3rd, 2014 – 9:40 pm

This is my last night as somebody’s girlfriend. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be Dylan’s fiancé. Fiancé… 

I’ve always been a sucker for little milestones. Hell, I cried at my 10th birthday party (the one where my best friend gave me the pink flower lamp, the one I turned on twice before putting it into memorabilia. That was the first thing I opened as a double digit, as a decade old. Of course that would go in there.)

Yesterday, he told me to keep Friday night open: “Don’t make any plans, ok?” I didn’t think too much of it until he told me that I needed to pack a bag, that we were going somewhere a little closer to what he has planned for Saturday morning. October 4th. Part of me knew it was going to be this day for weeks now. I have no idea how I knew it; that day on the calendar just stood out to me as I looked at the month ahead. October 4th…the day I would become Dylan’s forever. Oddly enough, I was at complete peace at work all day today. I didn’t want to rush through this day, this little milestone: did I mention that this is the last day I’ll be someone’s girlfriend? Ever. If I could put this entire day in a memorabilia jar, I would. 

So instead, I’ll write about it. It wasn’t like that bright pink hue that filled my flower-covered room all those years ago. Really, today wasn’t anything special. I went to lunch with the girls at work, laughing about menial things. Work dragged on like it always does, but in that fantastic kind of way: “what can I do now to pass the time.” It’s been slow since the leasing season dropped off. And then, right before we all went our separate ways for the weekend, laughing over some beers in a giant circle like usual, Sam made it real: “So are you getting engaged this weekend or what? I’ve been wanting to ask you all day!” My stomach sank, the room immediately growing silent while simultaneously getting 10 degrees hotter. I’ve been smiling ever since.

Dylan took me to a little Bed & Breakfast called Miner’s Pick B&B. The owner’s name is Vicki, which is a little aggressive for Idaho Springs. Let’s call her Martha. Martha fits better in this little lodge that smells of the most delicious, homemade sausage gravy. Of course she’s making biscuits. That’s what Martha’s do.

After a low-key dinner at Tommyknockers, here we are. He reading in the soft light and I, stashing the day away in my memorabilia jar.  Some moments are just meant to be stowed away and kept for a rainy day.  

Today was one of those moments.