As we leave the store, the ring box safely tucked into my jacket pocket, Freya bumps my shoulder with hers.
“So, future husband,” she mentions with forced lightness, “what’s our next stop in this fake engagement tour?”
“Lunch,” I respond. “Somewhere ridiculously expensive, as requested.”
“Oh good. I’m starving.”
At the restaurant, a place with white tablecloths and a wine list that reads like a novel, I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the jewelry store.
“Okay,” I declare after the waiter leaves with our order. “What happened back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the jewelry store. You loved that ring I mentioned we should get, and then you suddenly… didn’t.”
Freya fidgets with her napkin, not meeting my eyes. “The ring we bought is fine. It’s perfect for what we need.”
“But it’s not the one you wanted.”
“Ben…”
“Come on. I can tell when you’re settling for something.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and when she finally looks up, there’s something sad in her expression.
“I loved that ring too much,” she admits quietly.
“Too much?”
“A ring like that… it should be for a real engagement. With someone who actually wants to marry me.” She attempts a smile that ends up looking sad. “I mean, hopefully someday I’ll have that. A real proposal, a real ring, a real wedding. And when that happens, I want it to be special. Not tainted by this whole charade.”
I stare at her, feeling like the ground has shifted beneath me. “You want to get married?”
“Eventually, yes. Don’t look so shocked.”
But I am shocked. In all our years of friendship, I’ve never heard her talk about marriage or settling down. I understand she dates. We don’t usually discuss our romantic lives in detail, but I recognize there have been guys. I never thought about what her dating would lead to if she found “the one.”
“I didn’t realize,” I respond lamely.
“That I’m a normal woman who might want normal things?” There’s an edge to her voice now. “Just because I’m not desperate to get married doesn’t mean I never think about it.”
“No, of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all.” I’m quiet for a second, trying to process this. “You’ve never mentioned wanting that before.”
“Ben, the longest relationship you’ve ever had lasted three months. I didn’t think you’d be particularly interested in hearing about my hypothetical wedding plans.”
The waiter arrives with our wine, providing a mercifully timed interruption. But as he pours, I can’t stop thinking about what Freya declared. She wants marriage. She wants someone who will propose to her with a ring she loves, someone who will commit to her the way I’ve never committed to anyone.
Someone who isn’t me.
“I’m sorry,” I state after the waiter leaves. “You’re right. I don’t exactly have a great track record with relationships.”
“I wasn’t trying to criticize you. That ring was beautiful, and for a second, it felt real. And I realized I want the real thing someday. With someone who loves me enough to pick out a ring like that because he understands it’s perfect for me, not because he needs a prop for a business dinner.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I did pick out that ring. Or rather, I recognized it was perfect for her the moment I saw her face when she tried it on. But she’ll never understand that, because this whole thing is fake.
“When you do find that person,” I mention carefully, “he’ll be lucky to have you.”
She raises her wine glass with a wry smile. “Here’s hoping he exists.”
