Proposal had its snags but was truly a surprise

I thought I ruined the proposal.

I had a sneaking suspicion my partner, Justin, might be proposing that weekend.

He asked me in early December if I’d like to go to an orchestral Christmas concert ahead of the holiday. We peeked online to see what famous groups were performing in Indiana, and sure enough, Manheim Steamroller was visiting Butler University in Indianapolis in a few weeks.

Justin doesn’t usually enjoy going to concerts, so this set a few alarms off in my head. When it dawned on me his brother would be turning 21 a few days prior to the concert, well, I didn’t hesitate to shrug off my assumptions. Justin wouldn’t propose to me the day after we spend a night on the town with his sibling, would he?

Surely not.

Tired and sick, I woke up the day of the concert feeling like trash. I took a quick shower and geared up for the day ahead of us.

We were running extremely late — when are we not running late? — but I needed something to settle my stomach. Justin, the picture of health, stopped at a burger joint. His cheery demeanor was uncharacteristic for a man who would rather watch paint dry than attend a concert, much less show up late to one.

Another bell going off in my head, but this time my thoughts were too hazy to recognize it.

Justin spilled mustard on his sweater. We tried dabbing at it with some wet napkins, but to no avail, it was there to stay for the evening. Justin’s mood stayed unphased. 

One trait I love about Justin — he isn’t hot-headed. He’s usually pretty easy going.

But there was a lot going wrong that day.

I announced to Justin we were going to be rolling in about 40 minutes late, and this man simply says, “worst comes to worst, we can always sneak in during intermission.”

“There’s an intermission?” I responded.

Yes, the concert is two and a half hours long, with an intermission in the middle, he explains. 

This time, the bell was more like an alarm. Justin isn’t a planner. He didn’t book the tickets — this information was something he sought out. 

We arrived at Clowes Memorial Hall severely late, but we were able to slip in between songs and find our seats without interruption.

While we waited for the traffic to clear out afterward, I asked if there was anything else he wanted to do in the big city. Indianapolis Zoo had a bunch of Christmas activities going on. He liked that idea.

He routed his phone’s GPS to our next destination, and we headed that way.

I suggested dinner first and pulled up directions to an Italian restaurant. Looking at the road, I instructed Justin to turn left at the traffic signal.

He said no.

I asked if he didn’t want Italian food. Something else, then?

He drove us into a parking garage and up to a valet parking area. After waiting a few minutes with no one coming to greet us, he decided instead to pull into a regular parking space. He got out of the car and signaled for me to do the same.

Confused, I followed him to an elevator, and we rode up to the first floor of the Hyatt Regency. He led me to the front desk and asked for directions to The Eagle’s Nest.

My heart started pounding.

Soon enough, we were in another elevator. Justin turned to me and sheepishly admitted he had plans for the evening.

We shared a lovely romantic dinner — a fine dining rooftop experience I won’t forget. I could hardly eat, though, because of the butterflies in my stomach. I hadn’t been that nervous on a date for a long time. A proposal was surely on the way.

Of course, it didn’t come at the restaurant.

Nor did it come when Justin asked me to pose for a picture in front of a breathtaking Christmas tree made out of poinsettias.

Was he enjoying teasing me like this?

We debated going to the zoo, but at that point it would have only been open for another hour.

So, we headed home. I couldn’t contain my disappointment and admitted I thought Justin planned to propose that night. He gaslit me, asking why we couldn’t have a romantic evening without thoughts of a proposal. He also said the moment would come when I least expected it.

As we neared home, visibility on the road worsened. We agreed it was easily the foggiest night either of us had ever seen.

Justin pulled over at a nearly empty gas station (Sunoco) outside of Muncie and asked if I could drive the rest of the way home. Still unengaged and ridiculously tired, I tried to convince him to keep driving. No such luck. 

He agreed to buy me a snack inside the convenience store. 

As we left, Justin followed me to the driver’s side.

He opened the door. There was a ring box sitting on the seat.

What?

He bent down on one knee.

No.

He popped open the ring box.

“Will you make me the happiest man on earth …”

You’re kidding.

He stared at me for a second while my thoughts continued to scramble.

I didn’t believe it. I truly didn’t believe he was proposing. I thought it was another tease on a day full of them.

So, I did what any good future wife would do. I promptly snatched the ring box out of his hands and sprinted around to jump back into the passenger side of the car.

I opened the box again and found a bright diamond set in a jewel-encrusted band shining back at me.

It’s real. 

Oh, no. I ruined the proposal.

Confused, Justin hopped back into the car with me and said nervously, “You didn’t say yes …”

We both started laughing, and I responded with something along the lines of “Yes, yes, a million times, yes.”

Justin admitted he had several hiccups that night, including issues with valet parking and the ring box being too large to fit in his pocket.

I’ve always said I wanted a private, not public, proposal. I’ve also always loved Jim Halpert’s proposal from the TV show “The Office,” so Justin figured a gas station proposal in the fog would be a nice homage.

He also wanted to surprise me. He definitely did.

Looking back, there is also something mystical about getting engaged in the fog.

So, I didn’t ruin the proposal. Neither of us did. He still popped the question, and I still said yes.

Justin’s proposal didn’t go perfectly, and I contributed toward those bumps in the road — but an imperfect proposal is what made it real and memorable. It’s a story we’ll share for the rest of our lives.