He then took me to Billy’s. It was an elegant restaurant in a beautifully restored 1887 house. I had heard that it was a nice place and I wasn’t disappointed. We ordered brie for an appetizer, and it was the first time I had ever tasted it. Then we made wedding plans over filet mignon. Everything was perfect!
By the time we finished eating, I was reeling from thinking about all the things that I was going to have to do to prepare for a wedding and all the people I needed to call. He drove me to my apartment so that I could call family and close friends. (This was, of course, before everyone had cell phones.)
Afterward, Jason wanted to take me back to his apartment so that I could get my roses that we had left when we went out to eat. I was so tired that I told him I could just pick them up the next day, but he insisted that he wanted me to have my roses. I thought it was a little strange, but I figured that after he had gone to that much trouble, he really wanted me to have them. Roses don’t usually last more than a few days, after all.
I stood in the cold outside his apartment waiting for him to unlock the door. I was completely shocked at what happened next. He gently pushed me forward to go in first. As the door opened, the first thing I noticed was the balloons. They were everywhere, completely covering the floor. The light was dim, and romantic music was playing. In the middle of the living room and the sea of balloons was a table with goblets, a bottle of sparkling juice (as we don’t drink alcohol) and two plates. He had gotten my favorite dessert, an ice cream cake of mint between layers of chocolate.
The day had been perfect, more wonderful than I had ever hoped for. Being twenty-five at the time and having endured watching couples get engaged left and right during five years of Bible college, I wanted a story of my own, not just a “He-asked-me-and-I-said-yes” story, but a story of a magical evening prepared just for me. I was definitely not disappointed. In the end, I was glad I was not marrying a prince or a king; I was going to marry an Irish man!
Now you must read: Bloopers from Our Wedding! 🙂