Begrudgingly Bridal Pt. 1: Popping the Question
Proposal: 10/10. Everything else: TBD.
Six months ago, I got engaged to my high school sweetheart. Nine years in the making, the proposal was filled with laughter, tears, and loudly-screamed obscenities on my part. The scene was picture perfect, set in the heart of Nashville, but the road there certainly wasn’t easy.
In June of 2020, I had taken the day off to cope with the death of my cousin the day before. My now-fiancé, John, working as a paramedic at the time, had the day off, and I was thankful to have him home with me that day. He held me as I cried, joined me on my depression naps, and most importantly — damningly — he let me use his phone when mine suddenly crashed.
My mother had flown to Texas that morning to be with my aunt and uncle, and I had been anxiously waiting to hear from her all day. With my phone out of service, I asked John to text my family and my two best friends, Alyssa and Laura, from his phone, alerting them to contact him if they needed me. He sent the message, and we both laid down for another nap.
I woke before he did, and even after charging for an hour, my phone was still an unresponsive black screen. Still itching to hear from my family, I reached over and checked John’s phone. My mother had landed safely, my father was grateful for the heads up, Alyssa said that she hopes my phone works soon. Noticing that John never sent a text to Laura, I opened their messages and saw that their last conversation was about my birthday. I swear I did not have the intention of snooping when I opened John’s phone! But nevertheless, I scrolled too far up and came upon a message that I immediately knew was not meant for my eyes.
Infidelity? An illegitimate child? Financial ruin?
No. Plans to propose during our upcoming trip to Nashville.
I panicked! I threw down the phone and spent the rest of the day pretending nothing happened, attributing my jitters to grief whenever John asked how I was doing.
Neurotic on a normal day, I was a wreck for the next four months. Of course I would say yes if/when the time came. John and I had built a life together, a life that I was just as in love with as I was with him. We’d talked about marriage before, but now it was real.
At least once, sometimes twice a week, I would catastrophize the event to Alyssa in her kitchen or to Laura at her desk during the time when we were co-workers. Laura assured me that she had not received any further details from John — not completely untrue — and Alyssa went through strenuous lengths to convince me that I was crazy. John was not proposing. Chill out.
Honestly, Alyssa is the MVP, and MOH, of this story. She had to turn to guilt to convince me that this proposal was not happening!
“If John plans a proposal without me, I’ll be so hurt! Doesn’t he know you’d want your best friend there?”
I was starting to hope that John wouldn’t propose in Nashville, just so I didn’t have to face that impending ordeal.
Time moves forward, and due to COVID-19, our trip is pushed from September to October. I resign myself to the fact that John’s plans and excitement are more important than my anxieties, and that whatever happens happens, proposal or not.
A train of thought that I had to keep turning back to as there were several slip-ups during the time in-between.
Two weeks before the trip, while visiting my mother’s house, a neighbor sees me outside and cheers, “Congratulations!” When I ask what she is congratulating me for, she claims that it was a mistake, that she had dreamt that I was engaged. Nice save, Miss Sherry.
Two days before the trip, John tells me that his friend, Phil, is visiting from Boca Raton and wants to take us to dinner at a high end restaurant to celebrate John’s graduating from the fire academy. John asks me if I want to have a few drinks with him at a nearby bar before dinner, just the two of us. Suspicious that the dinner is an elaborate ruse and that tonight is the night, I panic and ask him, “Are you proposing tonight?”
He laughs and says no, and we head to the bar. Whether out of relief or still-reeling nerves, I have three too many Old Fashioned’s, and I’m undeniably drunk by the time we get to the restaurant.
We’re seated at a table littered with heart-shaped confetti. My inebriated mind drifts to Valentine’s Day … in October. The waiter cheerfully asks us what we’re celebrating and prompts, “I saw something about an engagement?”
When telling this story, John says that I missed the look of panic he and Phil shared in that moment, but Phil was quick to save the day by gently correcting the waiter that we’re celebrating a graduation. They both told me later that Phil knew of John’s plans, and took us out to celebrate early. Congratulations, John!
That wasn’t even the worst of it. My own mother almost ruined the surprise! A week before the trip, she took my sister and me shopping, and she kept insisting that I try on nice dresses, “Just in case.” Okay, Mom.
On October 23, John and I land in Nashville, TN. By the time we check into our AirBnB, we have already argued several times. He’s antsy and uncharacteristically-chatty, and I’m nervous and hungry, making us both tense.
We agree to end our petty bickering — we fight like we’ve already been married fifty years — when I’m miraculously able to book last minute reservations at the White Limozeen, the Dolly Parton themed rooftop bar. The gaudy and vintage pink palace of my dreams.
Before our trip, I had (somewhat) jokingly expressed that if John were to propose, this would be a great place to do it. We take some photos, have a few drinks, and John doesn’t ask me to marry him. Surprised yet relieved, I’m able to relax more. I send a text to Alyssa, “Wish you were here.”
She responds that she was suddenly called into work to cover another employee. Sucks for her.
John and I make our way further into downtown Nashville, and John insists on walking to the top of the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge. The weather is humid, the clouds threatening rain at any second, and my feet hurt from my impractical choice of footwear. I make it very clear that I do not see the point of walking up some “random ass bridge”, and I grumble my way to the top alongside John.
As we’re overlooking the city, a cute woman around our age approaches us, camera in hand. She’s super sweet when she introduces herself as Angel, an emerging photographer trying to build her business. She says that John and I just look so cute, and asks if we wouldn’t mind posing for her. You know, for her portfolio.
Without asking John his opinion, I immediately agree. The man knows me well, counting on me to be unable to resist an opportunity to help a small woman-owned business, and to capture photos of my monumentally good hair day.
Honestly, I didn’t think anything of this at first! Those first few minutes with John and Angel felt like spending time with friends, and it wasn’t until Angel prompted us to walk towards her that I grew suspicious. She definitely seemed more professional than she let on, and at this point I pull out my phone to follow her on Instagram.
She then makes us pose back to back.
Oh. This is it.
I turn around, John is on one knee. I yell, we kiss, I have a shiny new piece of jewelry.
Then, a man walks up and pats John on the back. Before I can fully form my best stank eye at this stranger intruding on my moment, I realize that it’s Richard, mine and John’s best friend from high school.
John, Richard, Angel and I are all celebrating, sharing laughs and hugs while Angel snaps more photos. I see that John keeps looking over my shoulder. He notices me noticing him, and tries to hug me again to prevent me from turning around. I push myself out of his arms and walk around the pillar that’s blocking my view of the bridge, and I see my sister, Ile; my dear friends Kaylin, Cherise, Gina, and Kenny; and finally, Alyssa.
Angel captures the moment on film.
In the coming weeks, Alyssa will ask all of our friends, “Want to see Lexi ugly crying?”
I love my fiancé, I love being engaged, and I love the idea of spending my life with him.
What I don’t love is wedding planning. The venue and the vendors and the dress and the décor and it’s too much! I don’t want to have opinions on small details like linens, and I certainly don’t want to hear yours.
I originally hoped to elope, but John is much more sentimental than I am, so we’re having a big, fat, Latin wedding. Darn him for being so sweet sometimes.
With my guest list of 150 people, I may not be able to invite you to my wedding, but I can invite you to follow me along as I navigate the minefield that is the bridal industry. I welcome you to commiserate with me on how “your day” certainly doesn’t always feel that way.
Welcome to Begrudgingly Bridal.
