Fast forward a couple of years and I knew I wanted to marry him. Two years in, I was pretty sure he was “the one,” or whatever people call it. I started imagining what our shared place would look like in ten years, whether we’d have kids, what our Sundays would feel like when we were older and more tired but still making each other coffee.
I could see it so clearly that it almost felt like it had already happened.
I started saving up for a ring. Yeah, I know. Most people expect the guy to do the proposing, but Adrien and I always joked that we didn’t care about rules, and I’ve never been the type to sit around waiting for life to happen to me. I figured if I knew what I wanted, why not go for it?
Still, I wanted to do it right. I told myself I’d wait until I was in a better spot with money, until things weren’t so tight. It felt like the responsible thing to do. I didn’t want to propose and then immediately stress over rent and bills. And honestly, I didn’t want it to feel half-assed. Adrien deserved a nice proposal.
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