For years, I believed Nick was the safest thing in my life.
When we met, he made everything feel easy. That was his gift.
My family loved him, too. Especially my sister, Lori.
The first time she met him, we were all at my mom’s house for dinner. He helped bring plates to the table, laughed at my uncle’s bad jokes, and genuinely complimented Mom’s roast.
Lori leaned over to me while he was in the kitchen and said, “Oh my God. If you don’t marry him, I will.”
He made everything feel easy.
We laughed.
Even Nick laughed when I told him later. He threw an arm around my shoulders and said, “Good to know I have options.”
It seemed like the kind of harmless joke families make when everything feels warm and safe.
My mother was worse than Lori, in a way.
“You finally found a good man,” she said one Sunday. “Don’t let this one go.”
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.
Even Nick laughed when I told him later.
Two years later, Nick proposed during a walk in the park where we had our first date.
“Yes,” I said before he’d even finished opening the ring box.
He laughed. “I didn’t even finish.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, and I threw my arms around his neck. I pictured growing old with him.
I started planning my childhood dream wedding.
We booked a beautiful church and made a guest list that got out of control almost immediately. Nick was involved in all of it.
I started planning my childhood dream wedding.
Early in the planning process, we decided to split the costs evenly. Getting that to work in practical terms was a challenge, though.
One night, after hours of sifting through quotes and invoices to divide up the costs and figure out who would sign which contract, I slumped onto the table and screamed into the paperwork.
Nick took the stack of vendor packets from me and said, “Let me handle the contracts.”
I looked up. “You sure?”
