Taming Groomzilla

It all started innocently enough.

Luke and I were unpacking boxes in the kitchen. We had just moved into our new condo, the movers had left, and we were itching to get settled. Luke just wanted to shove the dishes into the cabinet but I insisted on washing them—the newsprint had left dirty smudges on everything—so I was alternately loading up the dishwasher and washing glasses in the sink, while he unwrapped our stuff and carted the boxes away.

“What if we got married?” I asked.

He stopped stock still and I was afraid he was going to drop my great-grandmother’s antique glass pitcher on the floor. “Married?” he said, like it was a foreign word.

“Yeah,” I replied, “you know, married, that thing that couples do when they are in love and decide to spend the rest of their lives together. Doesn’t that describe us?”

He put the pitcher down on the counter and I snatched it away, glad it was still intact and immersing it in the sink of soapy water. I suddenly reconsidered what I had said. Maybe I had made a huge mistake. Maybe bringing up marriage twenty-four hours after buying our first home together wasn’t the smartest move on my part. But the words were out and I couldn’t take them back so I just waited on Luke, hoping that he wasn’t going to tell me to start re-packing the dishes and get the hell out of the house.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a minute, he said, “Are you proposing to me, Joel?”

I stopped, my hands still in the sink. Luke had a way of doing that—turning the tables on me. Was I proposing? I thought I was just asking a question, and maybe I was, but maybe I just phrased it wrong. So I decided to try again. I took my hands out of the water, rinsed them under the faucet, dried them on the towel and then turned to my lover of two years.

“Will you marry me, Luke?” I asked.

He rewarded me with a beautiful smile, then a laugh. “I always thought I’d be the one to do the proposing,” he said.

“Well, you just dilly-dallied a little too long, I guess.”

He smiled again. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So,” I asked, now impatient. “Is that a yes?”

“You could be a little more romantic, you know. What about getting down on your knee and taking my hand?”

I walked around the counter and looked into his eyes, then moved close and felt his arms come around me. I’m a few inches shorter and about twenty pounds lighter, and I’ve always liked the way we fit together. I rested my head on his shoulder, and raised my hand to his face, rubbing my finger along the edge of his jaw. Then I looked into his dark brown eyes.

“I love you, Luke, and I want to be with you forever, building a life and sharing our commitment. And…I want the world to know how I feel about you and that you are the man I intend to honor for all my days. So, for all those reasons, I’ll ask you again: will you marry me?”

He kissed me on the top of my head and I could feel his lips, tender on my scalp, moving in my hair as he said softly, “Yes.”