The Proposal and the Wedding
Two years later, he proposed.
It was not some huge spectacle, no flash mob, no fireworks.
We were hiking a trail outside the city, both of us sweaty and out of breath, sitting on a rock while the sunset tried really hard to be cheesy and romantic.
Jake kept fidgeting with his backpack strap, and I thought he had to pee or something.
Then he dropped to one knee in the dirt.
I remember saying, “What are you doing? You’re going to ruin your jeans,” because my brain short-circuited.
He laughed, pulled a tiny box from his pocket, and his hands were shaking so badly the ring almost fell into the dust.
“Harper,” he said, voice cracking, “I know this is complicated, and I know I’m not perfect, but I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel safe instead of broken.”
I said yes before he even finished, because of course, I did.
Marrying your ex’s best friend is its own special kind of mental gymnastics.
