Without a Proposal

Rain pattered against the sill of our rented twobed flat. I watched the drops trace strange patterns on the glass while the kitchen filled with the clink of chinaEmily washing the cups after dinner.

Tea? she asked.

Sure, I replied.

I knew every footstep she made around the flat; wed been together nine years, almost a third of our lives. Wed first met on the second year of our journalism course, in the university halls.

Back then things were simple: lectures, latenight talks, the first flutter of romance without any grand gestures. We moved in together earlyfar too early, I later realised. There was never a formal courtship or proposal; one day my things simply stopped returning to the dorm.

Emily set a mug of mint tea before me and sat down beside me.

My mum called. She asked how your project was going.

What did you tell her? I asked.

That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that its moving at a snails pace.

I smiled. Her mother, Margaret, had always been warm to me. Shed never asked about marriage or hinted at grandchildren. A wonderful woman. Even our friends cant help but ask, Why arent you two married yet? Today I ran into an old classmate, and he was in the same boat

Listen, I said suddenly, I was thinking about Alan Rickman today.

Emily smirked. Again? Hes your benchmark.

No, I said. Just hes a good example of a couple who could have been together for fortyseven years without any clichés, or you could have a lavish wedding and split after a year.

True, a label doesnt guarantee anything. The odds are on your side.

Exactly.

Emily sipped her tea, staring out the window.

Lucy from the accounts department is getting a divorce, she whispered. Third marriage. She says she always hoped this time would be forever.

And we havent even started, I chuckled. Yet were still together.

Yes. Still together.

I knew Emily sometimes thought about children. She never said it outright, but Id noticed her lingering at babyclothes displays, smiling at the toddlers in the park. I, too, sometimes felt the urgejust not now, not in this cramped flat, not with my freelance design gigs. Maybe someday.

Im scared of ending up like my parents, I blurted. You know how they spent their whole lives pretending to be a familyfor the neighbours, for the relatives, for me. In reality they never even talked to each other.

Emily laid her hand on my palm.

Youre not your father. And Im not my mother, though shes a good woman. Were just us.

But if we got married I trailed off.

If we got married, nothing would change, James. Maybe Id have a new surname on my passport. Wed still argue over the unwashed dishes, laugh at rubbish TV shows, youd fall asleep on the laptop and Id pull a blanket over you.

I looked at herat the fine lines around her eyes that had appeared over nine years, the familiar mole on her neck, the hands I knew better than my own.

What about kids? I asked quietly.

Emily sighed.

Kids I dont know if I want them right now. Am I afraid I wont have the time? Sometimes. But if I ever want them, it would only be with you, and only if you wanted that too. No ultimatums, James.

She stood, gathered the cups.

You know what Sophie told me at work today? Shes jealous because were genuineno masks, no games. Even without a wedding stamp.

We sat in silence, listening to the rain.

A week later Emily met her younger sister, Sophie, at a café. Sophie had married two years ago and was now six months pregnant.

How are you getting on? Sophie asked, biting into a slice of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a maniac. This little one runs my life.

Same old, Emily smiled. Work, the flat, you know, James.

Sophie set down her fork, looking intently at her sister.

Emily I wont pry, but Im curious. Have you two decided anything? Its almost ten years. I married Sam after a year and a half, and everyone kept saying we were dragging our feet.

Were different, Sophie. Were not dragging anything. Were just living.

But you want a family? Kids? Sophie placed a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready, but when those first kicks hit, it was a wave of love, a surge of happiness Dont be scared. The mothers instinct wakes up the moment a child becomes real.

Im not scared of kids, Emily said gently. And Im not scared of marriage. Im scared of doing it because its time or because everyone else does it. James and I have our own story. It may not look like yours, but its ours, and its real.

What if he never feels ready? Sophie asked quietly. Sorry, I just worry about you.

Emily reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

The scariest thing isnt that he might not be ready. The scariest would be if he did it just to check a box. Id feel that. But Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?

A tear glistened on Sophies lash as she exhaled.

Sorry, Im probably just hormonal. I just want the best for you.

Ive got that alreadycheesecake, a sister, and James waiting at home.

A few days later I had a similar conversation with my father, Robert. Hed turned up unannounced; we only spoke on holidays. He looked around the modest flat, took the offered chair, and settled in.

Hows it going, son? Mum sends her love.

Fine, just working.

Wheres Emily?

At work. Shell be home by seven.

An awkward pause settled. Robert fiddled with the keys to his old Lada.

Listen, James I dont mean to meddle, but your mum is worried. We saw on social media that Sophies pregnant. Lovely pictures.

A knot tightened in my chest.

Dad, about marriage and kids

No, no, Im not, he waved his hand, but his eyes said otherwise. I just Im looking at you two. Nine years. Thats seriousby any measure. I want to say youve done well, that youre not repeating our mistakes.

I raised an eyebrow.

My parents married because they thought I was ready. Then they spent their lives reminding each other If only you hadnt Its silly, of course. Were to blame. A marriage certificate doesnt glue whats cracked; sometimes it even keeps you stuck together longer than you should be.

He finally met my gaze, his eyes tired but honest.

Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a heavy responsibility, and thats right. Honesty beats pretending to fit a picture. Do you talk about this with Emily?

Constantly, I exhaled.

Good. Just make sure youre on the same wavelength. Everything else will fall into placeor not. Its your decision, not because parents are getting old.

We chatted a bit more about work; he declined dinner, citing errands. As he left, I asked, Dad, do you ever regret?

He adjusted his coat, thinking.

Marrying your mother? No. Regretting how we all ended up yes, every day. Guard what you have, son. A stamp isnt armor.

That night I told Emily about my fathers visit. She listened, hugging the cushions, then said, You know, Sophie dropped by with her questions.

And?

And I told her Im happy, just as I am.

I pulled her close. Outside the rain started again.

Theres still something missing, she whispered into my chest.

What? I asked, my heart skipping.

Youd stop muttering to yourself when you lose at online chess at night.

I laughed. Emily lifted her head, kissed me, and I realised our train wasnt stuck. It was moving slowly but steadily along a track we were laying ourselvesday by day, conversation by conversation. A station called Forever might not be a point on a map at all, but the journey itself.

In nine years wed survived my bouts of depression after failed projects, her night shifts, three moves, and her mothers illnesswithout breaking.

Emily, I said.

Yes?

Thank you for being you.

She turned, smiling that tiredbutwarm grin I love most.

I love you too, she replied.

I walked to the window, watching the street lights flicker. I dont know what the next year, five years, ten years will bring. I dont know if well ever reach that imagined station everyone expects us to arrive at. All I know is that tomorrow morning Ill wake up next to Emily.