For years, I believed I was building a future with the man I loved. Then, one ordinary week forced me to look at our relationship in a way I never had before.
The apartment always smelled faintly of coffee in the mornings.
Eight years of shared mugs in the same cabinet, his hoodies folded next to mine, photos from three different vacations hanging slightly crooked above the couch. At 30, I thought I was right where I was supposed to be, with my future figured out.
Until a few months ago.
***
I met Luke in college, in a literature class neither of us wanted to take. We started as friends, the kind who studied late and split cheap pizza, and somewhere along the way, friendship turned into something more.
I thought I was right where I was supposed to be.
After graduation, my boyfriend and I moved in together.
Luke met my sister, Jane, and our parents. He introduced me to Donald, his best friend, and the rest of his family. Before long, we were spending blended holidays, birthdays, and vacations together. Even our toothbrushes ended up in the same little ceramic cup.
Everything felt natural, as if we were building a life.
The only thing that never quite blended was the question of marriage.
He introduced me to Donald.
***
Last Saturday, my friend Sarah hosted her engagement dinner. Her fiancé had proposed on a hiking trail, and she couldn't stop showing the photos. I was happy for her. I really was.
But somewhere between the second toast and dessert, her aunt leaned over and smiled at me. She asked the same question that came up at every wedding I attended. By the way, at that point, all my friends had gotten married.
"So, Emma. When is Luke proposing? You two have been together forever."
