wifey

Wifey is a nickname that one of Andy's associates gave me. I suppose she refers to me that way because he talks about me so much and she realizes how much he loves me. I was very honored to be called 'wifey' and occasionally use that term myself when he and I talk. I like to remind him that I am ready, willing, and able to be his wifey (well, almost able, once my divorce goes through).

Like any girl, I fantasize about the when, where, and how he will ask me to marry him. Because I know he will. And during this trip I decided that I would say yes when the moment comes. I actually thought it might have been this time. And maybe it would have been, but I think I blew it. I don't know, you tell me. This is what happened...

Andy and I were alone in his brother's kitchen getting stuff ready for a family dinner. His mom had just returned from the grocery store and happened to buy me an apartmental rental book for the LA area. It kind of warmed my heart knowing that she wanted me to move there to be with her son.

We'd been drinking and I was feeling pretty good and a little loose lipped by then. I mentioned to him how nice it made me feel that his mom wanted me to live with him. He said yeah, she's just always wanted me to be happy. She even gave me my great grandmother's wedding ring and said 'I don't care what you do with this. I just want you to be happy.'

I pictured him using it to propose to his (first) wife 15 years ago. Knowing that that didn't last more than a year, I very stupidly blurted out well you fucked that up, didn't ya? Immediately after hearing it come out of my mouth I wanted to edit. I just sat down and then it was quiet for a few seconds.

Andy said no, I mean she gave it to me on this trip to which I meekly replied....oh...

Then I am sure I turned beet red as I buried my face in the apartment book. My heart sunk into the pit of my stomach which was suddenly on fire. How could I be so embarrassed and excited at the same time? Andy added I wondered why you were so non-plussed about it.

Oh...I said again. I was frozen, speechless.

Eventually I recovered and acted like nothing had happened. The rest of the night went fine. Dinner was great, the next glass of wine was great. I kept feeling my heart flutter every time I imagined him giving me the ring. But it didn't happen. Not that night. Not the next. Not on this trip.

I'm ok with it. Sure, it would have been nice to have, but I can't actually picture him giving me an antique family ring. It's just not his style. And maybe he's not in such a hurry as he seems to be. So it's ok to wait. But I keep wondering what would have happened had I acted (and spoken) differently.