I couldn’t give you an answer before we went to bed. Now, you’re asleep and I can’t stop thinking about the ring. As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed and throw on a jacket. A moment on the beach with ocean air is what I need.
Once our beach house is out of view, I sit just far enough so the water can’t reach my toes. I study the ring. Princess cut. 1 carat with a platinum band. Classic. Like us. From the moment we met, I knew I could make a home in you. Six years in, it feels like we made our own little universe. I can tell time by your facial hair. Our bodies collided and made new planets into a balanced solar system that started from our two separate worlds. Yet somehow your proposal caught me off guard even though I knew you would. I hide my newly-adorned hand in the sand and look at the stars. Like the consistent holiday we always forget. Why is this not as easy as it should be?
I allow myself to think about how my life would be different if I never fell in love with you. I’d still travel for work with only an empty apartment to rest my head. My days would be full of exotic foods, museums, and off-the-grid locations. Maybe I’d catch dengue fever again. I think I mostly miss the people. If I learned anything from being a travel photographer, it is that we humans will find a way into the heart of each other. The places are beautiful, of course, but it’s the people there I anchor to. The timid museum guide gushing over their favorite exhibit. The group of children playing on the docks. The man at the bar who sings along with the band. So, how can I trust my love for you when I’ve been in love so many times and still found it so easy to leave?
I get up and walk the shoreline. My mother comes to mind. “I can see why people think you’re running from something,” she begins, “but I always felt you were running towards something.” I tell her I don’t know what I’m looking for. She laughs. “Like a sea turtle. When they finally manage to breach to the surface, they make a mad dash to the ocean. They don’t know why they do it, not yet anyway, but when they reach the water, I like to think they know that’s when their life truly begins.” Perhaps, I am reaching for a good start. I think of you. The safety and security you bring to my life. It warms me on this cold night on the beach. It is tragically easy to make a home in people. I have done it again and again and could do it once you’re gone if you ever leave. I let myself be afraid. Of taking this new path with you and continuing to expand our world. Or letting you go to fall back into starting over again and finding different places to explore. Both thoughts invoke a fond familiarity, but I think I have my answer.
I realize I made it back home. I see the light on in our bedroom and immediately know that you’re sitting on the chair near the window, doing your best not to appear like you’re worried and failing miserably. I smile at the thought. I make my way up the stairs, each step feeling heavier as the fear of new beginnings rise again. But I hear the call of the ocean. I must make a run for the shore.
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