Pockets

A.B. never wakes up before me. When we first started dating, I would either wait in bed for her to open her eyes or “accidentally” bump her awake. Later I started to quietly leave the bedroom and use my morning energy to make coffee and tame our excitable dog. During those private hours I also ordered an engagement ring, nervously called A.B.’s dad, and booked a trip to Maine, where I planned to propose.

I left the exact place and time of the proposal undecided, figuring that, as long as I had the ring in my pocket, the right moment would present itself. Perhaps it would be while we took in Portland’s sights, or in front of a lighthouse along the coast.

Early one morning during our trip, I was walking through our rental when the ring slipped through a tear in my pants pocket, fell down my leg, and, with my next step, was launched into the bedroom. It landed on the floor right beside my snoozing girlfriend. True to form, she didn’t wake up, and I silently retrieved it and hid it in another pocket. I felt lucky the ring had fallen out in the rental instead of in the sand on the beach, where she said yes.