Wednesday, January 11, 2012

This Marriage Brought to You by a Fortune Cookie

For the last couple of weeks I have been telling you the story of how Wookie and I found each other and started our life together. Today is the anniversary of our proposal.

Wookie and I had been together for 17 days. And by together, I mean constantly. We took short breaks to go to our respective jobs. On weekends I went to the dive shop with Wookie. As far as we were concerned, we were still on our first date.

In our first week together, we had already established that we loved each other. Wookie said it first. I said it a week later. Life was good. We had settled into a weird kind of cohabitation that involved both our homes as we each had cats to feed.

After about two weeks together, I would occasionally catch Wookie muttering something.  When I asked what he said, he would say, “noting” or mutter something about “too soon.”

I had some fortune cookies stashed away,
but Wookie ate them before I could take a picture.
I let it pass. I was having too good a time.

January 11, found us back in the Manhattan dive shop where he worked. It was quiet day—not a customer to be seen. We ordered Chinese food for dinner. I don’t remember how I entertained myself that afternoon, I remember Wookie was reading a book and muttering. 

“We should get married!” I said. But Wookie was too busy muttering to himself to hear me. 

I went to pick up our dinner.

Dinner was a picnic, right out of the containers, with chopsticks and plastic forks, eating over the glass counter by the register. I reached into the bag our dinner had come in looking for the fortune cookies—there was only one. I gave it to Wookie.

The dive shop has long since closed, but if we were to find our way back, I could tell you exactly where he stood. I watched him crack open that cookie and read the fortune. Something went through his whole body—like a sigh but with more resolve.

“Can you come here?” he asked.

I came around the counter and he took my hands, sighing again.  This time he asked, “So, would you like to marry me, please?”

I know I said yes. I know I jumped up and down like a jackrabbit on speed. Then I said, “Are you kidding?” Actually, I asked several times.

He wasn’t kidding.

For weeks—almost as long has we’d been together—he’d been wanting to propose. All those mutterings of “too soon” were about asking me to marry him. Considering how I reacted to his first I love yous, I couldn’t blame him.

But what had changed?

The fortune cookie was the clincher.


I’d like to say it was a romantic evening after that. But the fortune cookie wasn’t the only surprise of the evening. That night we both had food poisoning. 

Still, nothing confirms true love like how your fiance reacts when you're doubled over with your body trying to turn itself inside out. We took good care of each other that night—and ever since.


So, what do you think?

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