The Crib Text
A few pieces of context before the story begins:
- The events take place on November 17th, 2017.
- Our friends Dan, Sula and their baby Havana were visiting from out of town.
- The week prior, Iain and I bought expensive hiking boots from REI for a last minute camping trip with the hope and intention of using (read: abusing) their generous return policy.
OK, story time.
I am standing in the returns queue at REI, steeling myself for a friendly interrogation as to why the boots were not 100% to my satisfaction, when I get a message from Sula asking if we knew someone who could lend them a crib.
I am still tapping out messages to potential crib lenders when the jovial REI man beckons me with a full arm-and-shoulder “Come on up!” to the counter. I assume Supplicant Brontosaurus pose.
Me: “I really liked them, but the waterproofing just didn’t seem to work very well.” (Lie.)
Jovial REI Man, inspecting the shoes, genuinely concerned that they could be defective in some way: “Shoot — that’s no fun! It’s surprising because these are made with Gortex. What kind of socks were you wearing?”
Ping. My phone lights up with a message from our friend Bernie.
I thought about 6:00 PM. I had plans for 6:00 PM. Exciting, secret plans. At 6:00 PM, I would be on the rooftop of our apartment, standing at the end of a trail of handwritten notes, wearing an elegant dress, surrounded by a sea of candles, holding a small black velvet box. I would be waiting for Iain to get home and discover the first note. He would follow them out onto the fire escape, up the ladder and onto the roof. There would be champagne and a picnic and romantic music playing from a Bluetooth speaker (probably the Hamilton soundtrack). I would go down on one knee and we would both burst into tears and laugher.
Jovial REI Man: “Without wicking socks, the moisture from the sweat of your feet can make it feel like there’s water coming in from the outside.”
Me: “Yeah, they also gave me pretty bad blisters on my heels.” (Lie. I’m so sorry earnest REI Man.)
I couldn’t look REI Man in the eye so I looked back down at Bernie’s text about 6:00 PM. Maybe I couldn’t make up a reason for being busy at 6:00 PM because I’d maxed out my daily lying quota. Maybe I couldn’t not say something because I’d fatigued my secret-keeping muscles after a week’s worth of conversations where I hadn’t mentioned my Grand Plan. I don’t know what came over me. I was a bubble of nervous energy, and I popped.
Jovial REI Man: “Yikes! If you were getting blisters, that sounds like a fit problem. But if they were the right size, it might just be a case of needing to wear them a few times to break them in.”
I reply to Sula about delivering the crib later that night (I am *this* close to telling her too, but I exhibit Herculean restraint).
JRM: “This same brand makes another shoe with a softer ankle support that might be more comfortable, but they are also less stable going over really rocky terrain…”
Back to Bernie:
JRM is saying that I’ll get the full refund back on my card in a few days (What a guy!) and asking if I’d like a paper or an email receipt for the return. “Email is great, thank you.”
I glance back at my phone. I see something impossible.
I blink.
I blink again.
An icy chill slips down my throat and into the base of my stomach. No. No. No.
I don’t remember how I moved from the counter to the exit. Jovial REI Man undoubtedly gave me the warmest of farewells and probably thought me a pitiable millennial, transfixed by my smartphone.
In a daze, I send another message.
What do I do? What do I do? I plead the internet for salvation.
Shit. I start calling Iain (affectionately known as Bear) over and over again.
I know what’s happened. He’s seen the iMessage notification on his computer. He knows I’ve ruined the surprise and finds the situation simultaneously hilarious and sad. He doesn’t know how act — Fake surprise? Feigned ignorance? Finally, he picks up, with a massive grin in his voice.
“Hey! How crazy! I literally just got out of the pool and heard my phone ringing in my locker.”
(Yeah, I see what you’re trying to do. Nice try.) “Iain. Turn off your phone.”
“OK…”
“Wait, where are you?”
“I just got out of the pool, like I said. I’m still in the locker room.”
(Yeah right.) “OK. OK. Just. Just turn off your phone immediately OK?”
“OK…”
“Did you seriously just get out of the pool?”
“Yes!”
(Bullshit.) “OK. Just turn off your phone and meet me at home in 30 minutes. 35 minutes.”
“Alright. I was just going to go pick up some lunch. Want me to grab you a taco?”
(So suspicious.) “Yes. Turn off your phone. Get me a taco. Meet me at home in 35 minutes.”
There are an obscene number of traffic intersections between REI and my apartment. Obscene. Once I’m home, a bluster of sweat and near-death-experiences, I chuck my bike in the laundry room, clomp up the stairs, pull my fancy dress over my clammy body, fumble through the stash of glitter and paper and string I had hidden in the closet and start hanging up the notes on the fire escape. San Francisco winds whip my little rainbow papers in every possible direction. I rip my dress climbing the ladder. My hands are shaking lighting the tea candles on the roof, which look ridiculous in the light of midday.
I hear Iain open the door to our apartment. He wandered around for a while before spotting the first note in the bathroom. He made his way out the window, up the ladder and onto the roof, where I was waiting in my rumpled dress and helmet hair. I went down on one knee and opened the little black velvet box.
To be fair, it was a perfect November day in San Francisco. We basked in our moment for about one minute and then I burst out.
“I am so mad.”
“What?”
“The message!”
“What message?”
“Are you serious?”
‘Katie — I literally just got out of the pool.”
We waited to make major public announcements until we told our parents. We are not actually big Marriage/Ceremony/Pomp/Circumstance/Tradition people, so this stunt was in no small part an honor to them.
Here’s how we shared the news with each of them respectively:
