Without a Proposal: A Tale of Unexpected Decisions and Unforeseen Consequences

Rain taps against the windowsill of the rented onebed flat in Camden. Andrew watches the droplets trace whimsical patterns on the glass. In the kitchen, the clatter of dishes fills the airPoppy is washing cups after dinner.

Tea? she asks.

Sure, he replies.

He knows the sound of her footsteps through every room; he knows each of her habits. They have been together for nine years nowalmost a third of their lives. They met in the second year of their journalism degree, in the university halls.

Back then everything was simple: lectures, latenight conversations, that first shy romance without a word of pretense. They moved in early, perhaps too early, as Andrew later realises. There was no courtship, no proposaljust one day his things stopped returning to the dorm.

Poppy places a mug of mint tea before him and sits down beside him.

Mum called. She asked about your project.

What did you say? he asks.

That youre, as usual, a perfectionist and things are moving slowly, she answers.

Andrew smiles. Her mother, Helen, has always treated him kindly. She never brings up marriage or grandchildren. A wonderful woman. Even friends cant help but ask, Why dont you two get married? Today, an old classmate turned up, and the same question was raised.

Did you know, Andrew says abruptly, I was thinking about AlanRickman today.

Poppy smirks.

Again? Hes your benchmark.

No. Its just hes a good example of a couple who spent 47 years together without any grand gestures, yet you can have a lavish wedding and divorce a year later.

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

Exactly.

Poppy sips her tea, eyes on the rain.

Lily from the accounts department is getting a divorceher third marriage. She swears each time shell finally settle, she whispers.

And we havent even started, Andrew smiles. And were still together.

Yeah. Still together.

He knows Poppy sometimes thinks about children. She never says it outright, but he notices her lingering at babyclothes displays, her smile when she watches toddlers in the park. He feels the same longingjust not now, not in this cramped flat, not with his freelance design gigs hanging by a thread. Maybe someday.

Im scared of ending up like my parents, he says suddenly. You know they spent their whole lives pretending to be a family for the neighbours, for relatives, for me. In reality they barely spoke to each other.

Poppy rests her hand on his palm.

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

But if we get married he trails off.

If we get married, nothing will change, Andrew. Maybe Ill have a new surname on my passport. Otherwise well still bicker over dishes, laugh at cheesy sitcoms, youll fall asleep on the laptop, and Ill blanket you up.

He looks at herat the fine lines that have appeared around her eyes over nine years, the familiar moles on her neck, the hands he knows better than his own.

What about kids? he asks quietly.

Poppy sighs.

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

She stands, gathers the cups.

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

They sit in silence, listening to the rain.

A week later Poppy meets her younger sister Annie in a café. Annie married two years ago and is now six months pregnant.

How are you? Annie asks, mouthful of cheesecake. Sorry, Im eating like a maniac. This baby has me under her thumb.

Same old, same oldwork, home, Andrew, Poppy replies with a smile.

Annie sets down her spoon, looks intently at her sister.

Poppy Im not trying to pry, okay? Just curious. You two have almost ten years together. Simon and I tied the knot a year and a half ago, and everyone kept saying we were dragging our feet.

Were different, Annie. Were not dragging; were just living.

But you want a family? Kids? Annie places a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready. Then I felt those first kicksa rush of love, pure joy. Dont be scared. The mother instinct kicks in as soon as the baby becomes real.

Im not scared of kids, Poppy says softly. Nor of marriage. Im scared of doing it just because its time or because everyone else does. Andrew and I have our own story. It may not look like yours, but its ours, and its real.

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

Poppy reaches across the table and squeezes her hand.

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

A tear glints on Annies eyelash.

Sorry, its probably hormones. I just want the best for you.

I already have it, Poppy says, smiling. Cheesecake, a sister, and Andrew waiting at home.

A few days later Andrews father, Victor, drops by unexpectedly. They rarely see each other, their contact limited to brief holiday calls. Victor steps into the modest flat, glances around, and sits on the offered chair.

Hows it going, son? Mum sends her love.

Fine, works keeping me busy.

Wheres Poppy?

At work. Shell be back by seven.

An awkward pause follows. Victor fiddles with the keys to his old Lada.

Listen, Andrew Im not trying to meddle, but Mums worried. We saw on social media that Annies pregnant. Lovely pictures.

Andrew feels a tight knot in his chest.

Dad, about marriage and kids

No, no, I meanlook at you two. Nine years. Thats serious, by any standard. I just I want to say youve done well, that youre not repeating our mistakes.

Andrew lifts his eyes in surprise.

My parents married because I was about to leave home. Then they spent their lives reminding each other how theyd sacrificedbecause of you I didnt go to university, because of you my career stalled. Silly, of course. Were to blame for that. A marriage certificate doesnt glue whats cracked. Sometimes it even keeps you from walking away cleanly.

Victor finally meets Andrews gaze, a weary honesty in his eyes.

Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a big responsibility, and thats right. Better to be honest than to paint a perfect picture. Do you talk about this with Poppy?

Constantly, Andrew exhales.

Thats good. Make sure youre on the same wavelength. The rest will fall into placeor not. Its your decision, not because parents expect it.

They chat a bit more about business; Victor declines dinner, citing work. As he leaves, Andrew asks, Dad, do you ever regret?

Victor straightens his coat, pauses.

Regret marrying your mother? No. Regret the mess we left behind? Yes, every day. Cherish what you have, son. A stamp isnt a shield.

That night Andrew tells Poppy about his fathers visit. She hugs the cushions and says, You know, Annie came by with questions.

And?

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

He pulls her close. Outside the rain starts again.

Theres still something missing, she whispers into his chest.

What? he asks, his heart skipping.

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

Andrew laughs. Poppy lifts her head, kisses him, and he realises their train isnt stuck. It moves slowly but surely along a track they lay themselves, day by day, conversation by conversation. The station called Forever isnt a point on a map; its the journey itself.

In nine years theyve weathered his bouts of depression after failed projects, her night shifts, three moves, her mothers illnesswithout breaking.

Poppy, he says.

Yes?

Thank you for being you.

She turns, gives him the smile he loves mostslightly tired but warm.

I love you too.

Andrew walks to the window, watches the scattered city lights. He doesnt know what the next year, five years, ten years hold. He doesnt know if theyll ever reach that imagined station everyone expects them to. He only knows that tomorrow morning hell wake up beside Poppy.