3. “WILL YOU…?”

Knowing that you want to marry a person since the first moment you become a couple doesn’t actually make it easier to propose. Interestingly enough, neither does being almost certain that they won’t say No.

Ask me how I know.

I want to propose to Kurt. I want to marry Kurt, to be his husband, to wake up every day for the rest of our lives and see his ethereally beautiful face on the pillow beside me, and the wedding band on his finger. I want us to have the same name. I want to be his family, to father children together, to be another son for his parents. I want it all, and I was ready to propose to him a week into being his boyfriend.

I didn’t, of course – after the parody of relationship he’d had with Marcus I wanted to give him everything, all the little steps and pleasures he’d missed out on and should have had all along. I spent the summer wooing him, even though we were already together. I took him out on dates; cozy little restaurants where we held hands in candlelight and fed each other desserts, and played footsie under the tables; the movies where I would spend half the time tracing my fingers over the soft skin of Kurt’s hand and wrist – featherlight, slow, teasing, until he was shivering and squirming just from the touch of my fingertips. There were nighttime walks and stargazing, and finding all those lovely little places to call ours; there was singing together and serenading each other.

We’d come home and kiss for hours, and spend evenings talking and making out, exploring. It didn’t matter that we’d known each other for years, or that we’d already had sex. It was all new and delicious, unhurried and perfect. More often than not it didn’t even lead to sex of any kind – it was all the pleasure of intimacy, anticipation, just being together. I loved seeing Kurt realize and understand that I don’t expect sex every time we kiss or undress – that it can, and should, be just like this in a healthy relationship where both partners are equals and have their say. It felt like a personal victory that by the end of August Kurt no longer hesitated before suggesting something or saying what he needed.

And then Hurricane College hit, and our safe little world got crazy, busy and stressed. It hasn’t been the best time we could hope for. But we’ve survived – each of us separately and together as a couple – through all of the challenges so far. And now it’s April, spring has arrived full force and I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, after all. And suddenly, my dream of proposing to Kurt, here and now, as soon as possible, is back. I love this man so much it scares me sometimes, and I just want to be his husband.

But it’s not that easy.

Kurt deserves the best the world can offer; and I selfishly hope that my proposal will be the only one he ever gets. So it has to be absolutely special – well thought-out and perfectly executed, beautiful and one of a kind. A day he’ll remember forever, preferably with happy tears in his eyes. A grand romantic gesture.

Which, basically, means that I’m screwed. I can pull off dramatic flair and grand gestures  – I used to do it pretty regularly before I became a boring banker; things that were spontaneous and fun, and a little crazy – but whenever I try to mix it up in romance, it ends up in ways I don’t even want to remember. Try asking any of my Dalton Glee club friends about the Jeremiah thing – they still like to make fun of me for that one. I just suck at the whole great romance thing, at least when I try; the harder I try, the worse it is, actually. And how am I supposed not to try hard in this case?

At least I didn’t start by buying the ring, this time. That was the first thing I did when I decided to propose to Danny; I’d had the little red box for over half a year before it was time to take it out, hidden behind my banking and management books on a tight-packed bookshelf. In the end, I didn’t even show it to Danny – his rejection was too swift for me to even finish the song, get off the stage and reach into my pocket. Later, in a completely unromantic gesture, I sold the ring – I couldn’t return it and didn’t want to ever see it again. Of course, I could have thrown it away with a flourish, somewhere over water, perhaps, but I decided that those kinds of dramatic gestures are for people with a bit bigger budgets.

God, I’m going to remember that train wreck of a proposal over and over again when I’m planning what to do now, aren’t I? Great.

Anyway – no ring yet; not until I have everything planned. Then I’ll go choose it, and will probably end up with a major problem, because well, it’s Kurt. Perfect, fashion-conscious, going-to-be-famous Kurt. It won’t be easy. Should I go with gold? White gold perhaps? Platinum should match anything, but wouldn’t it be overkill? My head spins just from thinking about it.

Do I really want to do this?

Yes, yes I do – I want to marry Kurt, and if I have to come up with something extravagant and original and elaborate to be able to, I’ll gladly do it.

My first idea is taking Kurt and his family out to dinner the day of Kurt’s graduation. I could ask the waiter to put the ring in a glass of wine or water, or maybe in a dessert… Um, no. Definitely not. Besides, it’s his day, celebrating his huge achievement, something he worked so hard for. I wouldn’t dare to take even a fraction of his limelight.

So I start planning things for our first anniversary instead – yes, it’s been almost a year since that day I tried to chase a plane for Kurt, or close enough. Proposing at home, over a quiet dinner by ourselves, with candles and wine and soft music, and a night of lovemaking afterward sounds lovely to me, but it wouldn’t be special enough. Maybe we could get away somewhere, a week in a cottage by a lake, perhaps? We could go for a long walk in the moonlight, and at a particularly charming spot I’d drop to my knee and ask Kurt to be mine forever.

Yes. It sounds right.

I’m in the process of looking for the suitable place to go when Kurt gets a job offer from the company he’s been interning with, and suddenly all getaway plans get pushed into the unforeseeable future as he throws himself into designing. We end up celebrating our anniversary with a very late dinner at home, a bottle of champagne that makes Kurt silly, giggly and adorable, and absolutely fantastic sex. Which is amazing, of course, but doesn’t actually get us engaged.

And I don’t know why, but suddenly I’m obsessed with proposing. Kurt is busy enough not to notice, but not a day passes by when I don’t sift through ideas – debating, wondering, rejecting more and more of them.

I think about writing him a song and performing it in Central Park when he goes through it on his way to or from work – but it’s too similar to the way I chose with Danny, so I can’t do it.

I consider putting the question on a movie screen or writing it on the sky, but apparently that’s cliché and besides, I don’t want big audience – not because I’m afraid of rejection, not really, but it’s our moment. I don’t want it tainted by strangers’ reactions.

There’s an idea of taking Kurt up for a balloon ride and proposing when we’re far above ground and all the everyday things, but to be honest, I don’t like heights – and I don’t want to be thinking about my own anxiety while asking one of the most important questions in my life.

Summer weeks go by quickly and my obsession is slowly driving me crazy. I need to make a decision. I need to have a plan and regain control over my own mind, stop thinking about places and scenarios, rings and flowers and music, and the “perfect thing to say”. I mean, I lose precious moments Kurt finds for us among the chaos of working on his first designs to be included in his company’s catalogue – I’m with him, but my mind drifts away to potential ways to ask him to marry me. How silly is that?

In September, I realize how desperate I am when I begin contemplating making a public proposal during the first professional fashion show where a few of Kurt’s designs will be featured. I reject the idea immediately, of course – for a dozen reasons, not the least of which is that he’d kill me – but the mere fact that it even popped into my head makes me realize how bad it is. Really, I should just give it up, forget it. I mean, there’s no hurry – we’ve been together barely over a year and he’s not going to suddenly disappear. I can do it on Christmas. Or on Valentine’s Day. Okay, no, that would be cliché. Hell, I can wait until next summer. Who said Kurt even wants to get engaged after barely a year with me?

Try convincing my brain though.

It’s two weeks later, during the fashion show itself, when the perfect idea hits me right between the eyes. One of the models has a silver half-mask on, to complement her evening dress, and suddenly I know.

Venice.

It’s suitably crazy, over-the-top romantic and definitely memorable. I’ll talk to Kurt’s boss in secret, on Monday. I’ll make sure I can steal him away for a week to Italy – he should have a bit more time now that the line is finished. While there, I’ll take him on a gondola ride and ask him to become my husband.

Yes, that’s it. I’ll need to work out all the details, but I have a feeling it’s going to be amazing. My heart suddenly much lighter, my mind able to focus after being distracted for so long, I have a great time for the rest of the show and at the after-show party. I shower Kurt with compliments – I’m not the only one, of course – and affection, so proud to have such a talented, wonderful, beautiful boyfriend.

Kurt blooms under all the attention, beaming and a little overwhelmed, but in his element. He’s flushed, his eyes sparkling, and I love him so much it aches. When we leave the party around midnight, I can barely keep my hands away from him in the cab home. I’m not the only one affected by the atmosphere of the evening, either – Kurt’s all over me the second we’re home and out of tux jackets.

We stumble through a shower together, hands and lips never leaving each other’s skin, and soon I’m rocking into him in our bed, passion and love and tenderness tangled together in an inseparable knot. He’s keening my name – mine, no one else’s – and when he cries out and comes between us, the thought that soon he’ll be my fiancé makes my orgasm rip through me with a force that leaves me weak and trembling, gasping for breath.

We sleep like babies the next morning – there are no alarms to drag us out of bed at ungodly hours, nowhere to hurry to, no stress, with Kurt’s show over and my obsession silenced. We cuddle and kiss in bed when we finally wake up slowly, too sleep-warm and lazy to do much more, until hunger and nature make us move. Brunch at a tiny French bakery two blocks away is heavenly and afterwards the warm, sunny October day – probably one of the last ones like this before the harsh New York winter – tempts us to spend time outside. So we do – it’s Saturday after all, we have all day to ourselves, with no plans or obligations, and it feels like forever since we could just relax like this.

We go for a long, leisurely walk in the nearby park, just enjoying the beautiful day and each other’s company, talking about everything and nothing, sweet memories and Christmas plans. I take my time etching it all in my memory, putting all the minute, precious details into my mental scrapbook to keep there forever – the crunching of leaves under our feet, the smell of autumn, the slight chill in the air and Kurt’s warm hand in mine, sparks in his eyes as he smiles at me. My heart aches with all the love I feel for him and it’s one of those rare moments when I can honestly say that I’m perfectly happy. And when Kurt’s lips touch mine, I couldn’t wish for anything to make this day more perfect.

We end up playing tag on our way back through the park, after Kurt initiates a tickle fight, so when we finally get home in the late afternoon, we’re both breathless and flushed, giggling like silly teenagers, and it feels wonderful. Kurt digs up my old high school playlist and we dance around the tiny kitchen, making dinner together and singing so loud that the neighbors must hate us now, if they didn’t before.

There’s pasta for dinner, and light Italian wine, and later I have to – have to – dance with Kurt when Come What May comes up. We’re so close, the heat of Kurt’s body seeping into my skin, my very bones, his every move causing ripples of desire spread like circles on the water. Soon we’re kissing and Kurt’s hands wander across my back, to my sides, and before I know it, he’s on his knees and I’m reaching to unbutton my own pants, suddenly unable to wait a second longer, pleading escaping my mouth in a litany of “Yes, yes, Kurt, please yes”.

An amused snort shakes me out of the temporary haze. When I look down, Kurt’s grin widens even more, until he dissolves into a fit of giggles. He composes himself quickly, but a mischievous smile remains on his lips.

“Is that an answer to the question I haven’t even asked yet?”

I’m confused and a bit affronted for being somehow left out on a joke, but then a tiny, black satin box appears in Kurt’s hand and I forget to breathe. He flips the box open expertly. There are two simple silver bands inside and they’re perfect, and I can barely wait till Kurt finishes the question – “You’re the love of my life, I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?” – until I’m pulling him up and into a kiss, whispering yes and yes and yes.

Much later, when the silver bands are already warm from our skin and our forevers whispered and kissed into every inch of each other’s bodies, when we’ve decided to wait until tomorrow to tell anyone about the engagement and are lying blissed out and sated in each other’s arms, I tell Kurt the story of my planning. His eyes go soft and he kisses me tenderly, as I try to explain.

“I wanted it to be perfect and memorable for you. I thought you’d want something special.”

He smiles with so much love that I feel like swooning.

“It would have been, no matter how you’d have asked, silly, just because it’s you. I don’t care about dramatic gestures, I grew out of it a long time ago. But I’m glad I got to propose to you instead. And it was memorable, don’t you think? Today was perfect and special, and everything I could dream of.” I hum in agreement. I couldn’t have planned it better, no matter how much I tried. Kurt giggles like a teenager again. “Although I think we’ll need to censor the story a little when we tell it to family, don’t you think?”

I try pouting, but I’m too tired and happy to pull it off. And he’s right, anyway. I wiggle closer into my fiancé’s embrace instead, and drift off.