I genuinely believed I had it perfected.
If I’m being honest, I may have been planning it for months. I reduced everything: I stopped going out to lunch, I stopped going out to beer on Friday nights with the guys, and I skipped a long-overdue trip to Atlanta with my closest friends. Even my old vinyl collection, which included albums I vowed to treasure forever, was sold. All in pursuit of the ideal ring.
I didn’t want anything gaudy. I went with a classic option: a sophisticated oval diamond set in a straightforward platinum ring. traditional. subtle. I thought she would wear that type of ring for the rest of her life. I know you, that’s the kind of ring. I recognize you. I often visualized the scene: me getting down on one knee at the lake where we went on our first date, her face beaming with the smile that drew me in, perhaps even a few tears of joy. I believed that would be the point at which everything fell into place.
And it did, for a moment.
She accepted my proposal of marriage. She spoke softly, a little out of breath. As I put the ring on, her hand shook. On the exterior, it appeared flawless. With her palm spread across my chest and the lake in the background flaming orange in the waning light, we even shot a selfie. There was something else, though, behind her eyes. Something tentative.
She didn’t say anything until later that evening, following dinner, champagne, and the initial frenzy of anticipation.
She encircled me with her arms and declared, “I love you.” “I want to marry you, of course. However, would it bother you if I choose a different ring?
I blinked. I believed I had misheard.
“What?” “What?” That had to be a joke, so I laughed. Her face, however, remained the same. No grin. There was no playful sparkle in her eye. Just the right amount of tactful earnestness to let you know that someone is going to express something important to them, even if it hurts you.
“This one is lovely,” she replied cautiously. “It doesn’t feel like me at all. I’d want to take you shopping for rings. I’ve been watching this small store on the internet.
I wish I could claim to have dismissed it. that I assured her it wouldn’t be a major issue. But really? The balloon seems to have been popped before it had a chance to rise.
I would give that moment my everything. The moment. The cost. The purpose. It seemed as though none of it had landed because of her desire. As if I had shot for her heart and fallen far short.
The money wasn’t the point. Marina was already wealthy, so she didn’t need me to purchase her anything fancy. Sort of old New England money. Asking what your “people do” is more about hierarchy than it is about curiosity in a family where summer houses are a given. At one point, her mother inquired if my old sneakers were a “statement” after glancing at them. I couldn’t tell if she was referring to money or fashion.
So, perhaps there was more to my disappointment than that. Perhaps the worry that I would never measure up was the true problem, not the ring. That I would always be the one attempting to meet her standards and her world. And now, the emblem of our future, the one thing I had put my all into, had been subtly but definitely rejected.
It was a calm drive home. As if nothing had happened, she sang along with the radio. However, as I gazed out the window, the “yes” kept coming back to me, gradually changing into something that sounded much more like maybe.
I had trouble sleeping that night. I repeatedly took the receipt out of my wallet and unfolded and folded it as if it may suddenly provide a different conclusion. I didn’t want to sound selfish, but I couldn’t help but wonder: Did she truly want me if she didn’t want the ring?
She was browsing an online jewelry catalog at the kitchen table when I found her the following morning. A spark of concern flickered in her eyes as she gazed up with the same eager spirit. She was aware.
“She tilted the screen in my direction and murmured softly, “I think these rings are more like me. Vintage filigree, emerald cuts, and one with a little sapphire in the middle. They were all very different from what I had chosen. I forced a smile after staring for far too long.
Even if my voice didn’t sound like mine, I said, “They’re unique.”
After hesitating, Marina grabbed my hand. “I don’t want to start acting like we’ve been together forever. I want something that feels good to me as well as to you.
A portion of me recognized it. However, a larger portion of me was injured. That ring represented everything I had invested in asking her to spend my life with me; it was more than simply a ring. And suddenly it seemed like that life’s first step had already been taken.
I told my sister Teresa everything over coffee later that week. The person who tells it like it is is my grounding wire.
After I was done, she said, “So let me get this straight.” “She isn’t declining the engagement. Your taste isn’t even being criticized by her. All she wants is a ring that has a personal touch.
I gave a nod. It still hurts, though. I made that decision with all of my heart.
Teresa gave me a steady, composed glance. “Have you explained everything to her?”
I gave a headshake. “With fewer words.”
“Well,” she responded, “start there.” You are aware that this goes beyond the ring. It’s not about you failing, though. It involves two individuals working together to create something that works for them both. That is the essence of marriage.
She was correct. I had been reserving myself. I should have been honest, but instead I let quiet take its place.
I therefore made the decision to present myself in a different way when Saturday arrived and Marina and I drove to the small boutique she had discovered, sandwiched between a record store and a cinnamon-scented bakery.The store wasn’t ostentatious. The pleasant aroma of lavender and ancient wood, the velvet ring trays, and the soft lighting made it seem as though you were inside someone’s memory. A golden retriever was slumbering close to the counter. Georgina, the proprietor, was a warm-hearted woman who welcomed us with the ease of someone who genuinely enjoyed her job.
As Marina went from tray to tray, she ran her fingertips over the rings as if they were tales to be told. She called me over after I initially stepped back.
In front of her were three rings: a stunning emerald-cut diamond surrounded by a scalloped halo, a classic 1920s ring with hand-etched scrollwork, and a dainty rose gold band with a glittering moonstone.
Are any of them familiar to “us”? She enquired.
After silently examining them, I said, “Let’s find out.”
Georgina took a small black notebook out. She claimed that every ring had a backstory. A jazz vocalist used to own the moonstone. The old ring was pawned to cover a mother’s medical expenses. A local craftsman created the emerald cut because he thought each piece should represent the journey of the couple wearing it.
I watched as tears welled up in Marina’s eyes. Something cracked open inside of me as well, this time comprehension rather than agony. I wasn’t being rejected here. It was about making a claim that was both of our honor.
Marina held my hand outside the store, beneath the fall sky, and whispered quietly, “I apologize if I gave you the impression that your proposal wasn’t sufficient. It was flawless. I simply didn’t want to say yes and lose a piece of who I am.
I gave her a serious look. Additionally, I didn’t want you to believe that I had missed you. that I failed to try. I suppose I was afraid I wouldn’t fit in with your world.
She grinned despite her tears. “Let’s create our own universe.”
We asked Georgina about the emerald-cut ring after exchanging embraces on the sidewalk and returning inside. Marina’s entire face brightened as she told about its story and artistry. I realized then that we had discovered our ring.
Something changed in me as she left the store with the velvet box securely in her purse, her hand in mine. I no longer felt burdened. I had no doubts.
Because a ring wasn’t the only thing at stake. It was about genuinely, awkwardly, and completely choosing each other. About understanding that love isn’t about perfection and that even the finest intentions can go awry. It all comes down to having the guts to adjust.
What I’ve discovered is that yes is only the beginning. It’s the beginning of something far larger, not the conclusion of the tale. Something more profound. Love develops via honest communication, tumultuous feelings, and the readiness to compromise rather than through perfect planning.\
Ultimately, the ring we selected together was a greater representation of us as well as a better match for her. And for that reason, it was invaluable.
Perhaps this story speaks to you because you have experienced what it’s like to try your hardest, make a mistake, and discover what true love demands of you. If so, be aware that setbacks are not an indication that you are failing. They are indicators that you are maturing.
And believe me when I say that progress is a better starting point than perfection.