JB’s best friend Jim had invited us to spend a weekend with him and his fiancé at his family’s magical cottage on the island. “Nanny’s Folly” was a ramshackle, gray shingled, rose covered bungalow purchased by Jim’s grandmother long before the remote island became a celebrity destination. The Pennsylvania family thought Nanny had “fallen off her rocker” when she purchased property on a defunct whaling outpost off the coast of New England; and thus the moniker was born.

Because JB was living temporarily in Texas on a site assignment for the engineering company where we both worked, this was to be a rare treasured weekend together. But I nearly foiled the getaway and the proposal by falling down an emotional rabbit hole. The spiral began when a coworker and friend —who had been witnessing, encouraging, and advising my romance— suggested the weekend might be part of a proposal plan. To me, this was ridiculous. It was too early in the relationship from JB’s practical perspective. I assured her the point of the trip was simply to celebrate my 29th birthday. However, my heart was secretly ready for that leap in commitment.

While my mind battled the unlikely hope, I plunged into a funk of anticipated disappointment. After several impatient, and perhaps a bit snippy, remarks during the two-and-a-half hour ferry crossing from Cape Cod to the island, JB finally asked why I was in such a bad mood. Unable to admit the real source of my malaise, I blamed it on the partial truth of monthly hormonal demons. He delivered a gentle wake up call by expressing his hope for a very special weekend and cautioned that my mood was in danger of spoiling it. Oddly, his comment did not dig a deeper hole, nor did it deliver the hint to my ambivalent brain that a proposal was in fact in the making. Instead, his words washed over my rocky disposition like a gentle tide.

I let go of expectations and focused on the moments at hand.

The next evening, after the four of us enjoyed my birthday dinner, JB suggested that just the two of us go for a walk on the beach before giving me my birthday present. I don’t recall what we talked about as we strolled hand-in-hand. I just remember our feet sinking in wet sand, the moonlight shimmering on black water, and the rhythm of waves gently tumbling on the shoreline.

When we headed back to the cottage and passed through the tiny, and now empty village center, a soft light illuminated the benches outside the island’s iconic Sconset Café. JB recommended we pause there to open my present. When he proffered the small square box, my mind leaped to earrings, squinting in the dim light to see two of something; so thorough was my mind’s suspension of proposal expectations. The reality of the solo brilliant sparkle eluded me until JB uttered a drawn out “well???” Always a man of minimal words, he assumed I comprehended the unspoken question. But I didn’t, and simply replied, “well what?” He volleyed back with an imploring, “well, will you marry me?” Only then did I let my heart and mind believe that I was looking at an elegant solitaire diamond ring. We both laughed as I admitted my expectation that he intended to adorn my ears and not my hand!

JB wanted to marry in October.

I also loved the idea of a New England autumn wedding and assumed he meant the following year, not a meager three months hence. But JB could not endure a year long obsession with wedding plans, the current trend among our peers. Despite my doubts that a traditional wedding could be arranged so quickly, I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm in my dream gown, hand-made by my mom, in just fourteen weeks . Jim stood by as best man and my sister Joella as maid-of-honor. With the invaluable help of creative friends and family who found our historic venue, made the wedding cake, stitched velvet bridesmaid ensembles, and stocked the bar, we pulled off a ceremony and cocktail reception that truly reflected us and accommodated our limited budget.

We flew to Edinburgh via London that night to start our honeymoon.

The crew of the British Airways flight announced our newly married state to the rest of the coach passengers and broke out champagne for the two of us. Following the overnight flight and early morning connection to Edinburgh, we drove a rental car to our bed-and-breakfast lodging north of the city. We were so exhausted by celebration and travel that the minute we entered our cozy room, we crashed fully clothed onto the bed, leaving romance to wait for rejuvenating sleep.

Over the next few days we were able to meet two generations of JB’s family that had never visited the USA. It was a fascinating cast of characters, including his father’s eccentric sister whose long humorous rants were impossible to follow, and not just because of the highland brogue. She was accompanied by her elegant adult daughter, who could have passed as JB’s twin. A recently retired uncle generously housed us, shared his whisky, and took us to important familial landmarks and favorite haunts. An elder uncle, who was still jogging and taking ice cold showers in his eighties, charmed us with his sophisticated discussions of history and music. After parting with family, we wandered the wild austere coast, deep blue lochs, and lush highlands along narrow twisting roads. The heart and soul of this diverse rugged landscape was reflected in the wry humor and craggy personalities we encountered among family and at pubs along the way.

Our trip concluded in Paris, which satisfied my French fascinations despite chilly October rains that clobbered me with a nasty head cold.

JB ventured out alone to find cold remedies while I soaked in the luxuriously long and deep antique tub in our classic Haussmann style hotel. Our Parisian hide-a-way in the 8th arrondissement was surrounded by historic venues like La Place Vendôme, Place de la Concorde, and the Neoclassical church La Madeleine, intended by King Louis XV as the focal point of the new Rue Royal, leading to the Concorde.

This indelible journey rekindled the flame of France in my heart and ignited the fire in JB to see more of the world. It was his first time abroad and our first international excursion together.  He proved to be a great traveler, able to quickly adapt to foiled plans, and find his way to and from unknown places with the prowess of a homing pigeon. It remains his superpower to this day.   

To discover how my path joined with my co-conspirator in expat life and wander with us, follow the journey.