A Sunset Proposal

Time did not stand still.

It slipped through my fingers — gripping his shoulders as I leaned over to kiss him, and passed by as quickly as the burning sun dipped beyond the harbour. We were standing at the water’s edge next to an array of flickering candles when he took my hands, his eyes blurred with tears.

Nothing in my anxious and overly-anticipatory brain had prepared me for the pure, raw love I felt in this moment.

Before kneeling on one knee he whispered words with the most sincerity I’d ever heard.

“Since the day I met you I knew I loved you, and I’ve fallen more madly in love with you every day since. You’ll always be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see before I go to bed, and I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. Natalya Kathryn Grabavoy, will you marry me?”

My peripheral vision vanished. A few cheers in the distance interrupted my thoughts.

Implicit happiness flooded through me. How was this moment even mine? Surely I was watching this scene unfold, not living it myself. I couldn’t possibly be the subject of something so idyllic.

But here I stood, beneath a glowing creamsicle orange sky, the splendid yawn of a warm summer evening. It felt fragile in its perfection, that should I get too lost in this blissful moment, the universe might suddenly remember to tally all of my good fortunes and decide I’d had enough, quickly wrenching it from me.

Yet I kept my gaze locked on his, and through my own tears tried to absorb every second of this living memory just as intently as I cried, “yes!”

The Months before

The truth is, I’d known the date for months.

Not due to persistent guessing or digging, but merely because living abroad made spontaneous plans near impossible. We were constantly planning our schedule months — more so, years — in advance.

Sam had asked me midway through the year to reserve this particular December date for a surprise weekend away, before our ambitious trip home to the UK and US for the holidays. When you’re from two different countries, living in a third, separate country, such a lifestyle becomes your new normal.

Yet we’d already agreed to forgo Christmas gifts, and now he was telling me he’d made a secret weekend plan for me? I did my best to hide my suspicions. If I did turn out to be right, I really didn’t want to ruin my being surprised for him.

Months passed, and whenever the weekend in question came up I studied his reaction intently. There were numerous occasions when he successfully threw me off the trail. He’d reference the date ever so casually, and at one point even hinted that a weekend away he’d booked had fallen through, so we’d instead be staying in Sydney. My brain scrambled to rectify the loss of a plan I hadn’t known existed. What did this mean? Had he decided to wait to propose after all? Or were we onto a backup plan, filled with last minute reorganising I couldn’t even help him with?

In fact, compared to my irrational anxiety over controlling my own surprise weekend, he seemed totally calm. Nonchalant, even. The seeds of doubt were successfully planted. Now, I was only 50% sure of what was to come.

Meanwhile, he’d been in the throes of planning something unforgettable.

Behind the Scenes

We were lying in bed one cool August morning when a text popped up on my phone from my hometown friend Bianca. She was on vacation in Saint Martin, excitedly sending me photos of engagement rings on display at a family friend’s jewellery store.

I realised then that I had officially entered the rom-com era of my life: girlfriends swapping photos of diamond rings and dropping not-so-subtle hints to their boyfriends. Except luckily for me, I had no hinting to do. Sam was openly curious and thoughtful, asking me often what I’d want from both a proposal and a ring. Since we’d begun dating, he’d never shied away from speaking about our future, something I loved about him. More often than not, he led the conversation.

Bianca’s next text came buzzing through, following an array of dazzling diamond solitaires.

“If Sam ever needs a jeweller btw, my parents’ friend here is the best! He could definitely help Sam out if you want to give him my number.”

I read the message aloud with a laugh and flicked Sam her contact. He and I had already looked at rings together in Australia, so I thought no more of it.

Little did I know, this text had spurred the next step in his plans.

As far as the ring I dreamed of — by now I’d assembled enough wedding-themed Pinterest collages to send my artsy, alternative 21-year old self into a coma. I’d saved dozens of sparkling oval solitaires (perhaps too popular), pears (too lopsided?) and radiant-cut diamonds to a board casually titled “Ring Inspo.” I’d memorised the four C’s, pored over the pros and cons of varying cuts, all without realising Sam had already spent five times as long doing the same.

And while I hate to admit it, all that Pinterest-ing had helped. It was during an endless scroll that I stumbled across The One — an elongated cushion cut sitting high atop a thin diamond band. It was stunning, and immediately felt like me. I’d excitedly shown a picture to Sam, and from that moment on, he dedicated himself to finding nothing short of my dream ring, even if it meant searching overseas.

I never expected someone to care as much as he did. In fact, I’m sure my 21-year old self never thought this fairytale moment would’ve been possible.

The Week Before

The week leading up to the proposal was…normal. How could it be so normal??? I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror one morning and thought about the fact that 6 days from then I’d be getting ready, just like this, brushing my teeth and washing my face like always. Except that day, I might also become someone’s fiancé.

Aside from the new emerald green dress waiting patiently in my wardrobe for Saturday, the week ahead followed the usual routine. Getting ready for work, the gym, dinner out with friends.

That is until the end of the week, when I found myself buckled over in crippling in pain.

The Morning OF

I hardly slept Friday night from the sharp pain now searing through my abdomen. By this point, I’d already visited the doctor, Googled symptoms voraciously, and taken every over the counter remedy I could think of. Sam’s stress was bubbling into a mixture of frustration at ill fate and panic. Neither of which we could acknowledge directly, making the experience all the more trying.

After cursing in pain several more times, we ultimately decided a trip to the emergency room was necessary. The risk of appendicitis loomed over our heads like a dark cloud. An emergency surgery would certainly foil any romantic event from occurring this weekend, at the very least.

Before heading to the hospital, Sam made an excuse to dash to a friend’s apartment, and I instinctively knew he must be collecting the ring. The devastation on his face that morning was even more crushing than the twisting in my stomach. I couldn’t believe one of the most anticipated days of my life had so quickly turned from fairytale to tragedy.

Several hours later we were seated beneath the blazing fluorescent lights of triage awaiting my test results. After 48 hours of constant pain, the symptoms had finally begun to subside. Sam and I remained glued to our phones, separately texting family and close friends for reassurance, support, and positive thoughts. After an eternity, the doctor re-entered the room.

All clear.

It appeared to be an extremely painful food intolerance.

We exhaled for what felt like the first time. From that moment on, I resolved myself to saving the rest of the day, whatever it required. This wonderful man deserved this. We deserved this.

With a flurry of rattled nerves and sudden onset excitement, we rushed home and whisked together overnight bags. I grabbed a few outfits, grateful my backless green dress was waiting for me to bypass the frantic “what-should-I-wear?” debate. Sam had booked us a room at The Four Seasons, and we were already an hour past our early check-in time.

The day of

We swiped our key and swung open the door to a stunning suite overlooking the Sydney Opera House and dazzling blue harbour — the beautiful city where we’d met and fallen in love, where 3 years ago I’d been insistent that my next chapter of life would magically unfold, just as it had. I was overcome with emotion. He told me we had a bit of time to spare, so we slipped into fluffy white robes and made our way down to the spa, leaving the stressful events of the morning behind us without another word.

At this point, I was certain of what was to come, yet even with the moment just hours away, it still felt too surreal to truly comprehend. It turns out that even once you’ve arrived at a moment you’ve dreamed of for a lifetime, you’ll still have no idea how to possibly soak it all in.

Of course the perfectionist I am decided that a last minute sprint to the nail salon was absolutely necessary — after all, I’d missed an earlier appointment that would’ve seen the removal of my unideal mint green polish.

So I ran into the closest salon I could find, panting, abruptly exclaiming to a room full of strangers, “I’m so sorry but my boyfriend is about to propose and I need to get my nails done as fast as possible!”

Immediately the ladies sprung into action (reaffirming that I was, in fact, in my rom-com era). They wouldn’t let me go until an elegant French manicure tipped each nail, following me to the counter so that I could pay with one hand while keeping the other in a portable dryer until the last possible second.

Sam had been calling me, nervously. It was time for us to leave. I exited the salon in a flurry of thank you’s and well wishes, hopped into the nearest cab and blurted the name of our hotel, feeling more Carrie Bradshaw than ever before.

The PROPOSAL

We sat together in our Uber nervously, my mind racing with disbelief and wonder for what was to come. He carefully adjusted the buttons on his white Ralph Lauren, never drawing attention to the small box he kept uncomfortably tucked in his pocket.

I might have guessed the date, but the specifics of his plan were a complete mystery to me. He had, of course, already honoured my request that I not be “wearing Lululemons or something” when he asked me to marry him. We were driving north of the city, on a route I’d never taken before. Evening sunlight streamed through the trees.

When we got near, Sam poised in his seat as we rounded each bend, carefully instructing the driver once we’d reached the spot. We climbed out of the car and began to descend a path toward a beautiful, waterfront park. Walking hand in hand, I could feel us being watched intently by numerous park go-ers scattered across the lawn. In particular, one large group of women appeared interested enough to stand and shuffle themselves a bit closer to us. We walked another twenty or so feet before I realised why.

Just ahead, set perfectly overlooking the harbour, was a gorgeous picnic spread. A beautiful rug strewn with cushions, woven baskets filled with soft chenille blankets, large sprays of red roses, glowing candles, a low table with an ice bucket filled with a bottle of champagne, and a small speaker humming music.

I gasped, walking toward the display in a mesmerized daze. I set down my purse, carefully examining each detail, heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t even notice the couple angled a short distance behind us, taking photos.

Sam took my hands and led me a few steps away, overcome with emotion that I quickly matched. It was real, this was happening. The man I loved more than anything in the world was stood before me, confirming he, too, loved me more than anything.

In a whirl of a moment he knelt down on one knee, opening the ring box. It came in flashes — his heartfelt words. Seeing the cushion-cut diamond sparkling for the first time. My disbelief that a ring so stunning was being handed to me. A steady stream of tears. Pure elation. My fiancé.

With an overjoyed “yes!", a passionate kiss, and an eruption of applause and cheers from the dozens of park dwellers who had been unknowingly awaiting our arrival, it became official.

We were engaged.

We sat back down and gushed over the ring, sipping champagne giddily and gazing over one of Sydney’s unabashedly vibrant sunsets. Sam switched the playlist to our song. The moment felt warm as honey, an electric current buzzing between us without dissolve.

“You bring out the best sides of me I didn’t even know existed,” Sam said, continuing the rest of the words that had escaped him in the rush of excitement while he was on one knee.

“I’ve never been so loving, caring and patient in my life until you, and I can’t wait to keep exploring new sides of myself with you. I don’t want to spend another day not knowing that you’re mine forever.”

The next hour glided past in what felt like a minute. We stood to make our way to the dinner he’d reserved at Cafe Sydney, stopping to look back over our shoulders for one last glance at where we’d begun the next chapter of our lives.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a golden ribbon reflecting against the water. The emerging indigo backdrop allowed the candles around us to glimmer like a smattering of stars, a new evolution of the night’s beauty. I snapped one final picture and drew a deep breath, painting the perfection of this moment in my mind and across my heart.

Forever could never be long enough.