I couldn’t help but but feel nostalgic as I stood in front of my favorite restaurant. It was an Italian restaurant where Evan took me on our first date and on our three anniversaries of being together. It is where we head out when we wanted something edible besides the Chinese and Indian food we take out from the store across our apartment. I’ve practically tasted everything on their menu. I wonder if they’ve added something new. It’s been a while.
“Good evening Miss Margaret.” the familiar doorman politely greeted me. I nodded and smiled in return. I scanned the room for my date. Luckily, I found him immediately. He looked dapper in his three-piece suit. His tie was slightly loosed around his neck. He might have noticed someone staring at him and so he turned his face towards me. He stood up as he waited for me to reach out table.
“You look gorgeous tonight, as always.” He put a light peck on my cheek then he moved to help me sit on my chair. “I would look more gorgeous if I was given another half an hour to fix my hair but I was afraid I’m going to be late if that happened.” I joked.
He chuckled, “It was good then that you were short of time or I would have died out of hunger.” Then he stared at me with adoring eyes, “But no matter how you dressed or styled your hair tonight, you are perfect.”
I just smiled back at him. I remember those times when Evan would compliment the way I look, the way I move, the way I do everything. I didn’t believe him at first but he kept on telling it again and again that I believed him. It’s one of the many things I loved about him. he made me feel good even at my worst.
A waiter tended us and we gave our orders. The sommelier approached our table with an expensive bottle of Marsala and poured our glasses. Evan taught me the art of wine-tasting. I actually enjoyed it. We had so much fun that night that we became tipsy because we downed three different wines. We ended up leaving his car on the parking lot an hailing a cab home. But tonight, I refused to drink and opted the sparkling water instead.
Our food came which we ate in between exchanging stories. The dishes were cleared out before the waiters came back to set the platters and cutlery for our dessert. It was tiramisu which I loved. Evan was the one who enlightened me that tiramisu is an Italian dessert. I really thought it was Japanese before!
I started with my dessert when the good-looking man in front of me asked, “Did you know that tiramisu means pick me up?“Before saying “I know”, he stood from his chair and walked towards me. He kneeled at the side of my chair. Is he doing what I think he is doing? In answer to my question, he got something from his breast pocket. A small velvet box. He opened it then just before my eyes was an enormous diamond ring. It was breath taking. “Margaret, we’ve been together for quite some time now and I just feel that this is the right moment to say this. I love you. Will you pick me up from here? Will you marry me?”
Memories of my time with Evan sprang out from the back of my mind. We were happy together. I never thought I could be that happy being with someone. We were happy but there were also moments that were a big let down. Like when we got pregnant but I miscarried on the 8th week. There was that moment when we haven’t had a real conversation for days. The doctor said my uterus was not a conducive place for the baby to grow but it doesn’t mean I can’t carry a full-term baby. I just need to take some medications and take are of my health. Evan didn’t say anything bad towards me. It’s like we had a mutual silent agreement not to talk about what happened. But I still felt he is blaming me or was it my guilt making me feel that? After that, everything between us changed.
I go back to the present and to the question. Will you marry me? How do I answer that ? It’s the second time I’ve been asked with the same question. I hated close-ended question types. I cannot reason out, I cannot give excuses. I remember the first time I was asked with the same question. It was also in this restaurant. I said “yes” simply because I loved the one who asked it. Somehow, I think to myself, I wouldn’t want to dine here anymore. What am I going to say this time? I noticed that the other tables were staring at us, or at me, waiting for my response. I look back at the man kneeling in front of me. I don’t love him. But before I gave him my honest answer, my attention was caught by a couple who just entered the restaurant that my mouth was left gaping. They were holding hands, the guy was whispering something to the girl as she giggled. They stopped their tracks as they noticed the situation going on. I stared at their intertwined fingers and didn’t fail to see a big diamond ring on the girl’s finger. So it’s true, he proposed to her. He asked her to marry him. To have his babies. To spend her life with him,like, forever. Realization dawned to me. I am hopeless. I felt my heart constrict as my mouth dried. I just felt tears running through my eyes. I stared at the man who just entered, the man who asked the first “Will you marry me?”. I mentally sent him a message. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Then I turned to the man proposing to me. I changed my mind. I said, “Yes Noah, I want you to make me your wife. You’re going to be a father after all. I’m 9 weeks pregnant.”
The crowd cheered while I died inside. Goodbye Evan.