Page 25 of Meant to Be

“Joseph, no. That’s a terrible idea.”

“Why?”

“It’s so disrespectful to her. She deserves better.”

“Don’t do the why-buy-the-cow thing, Mom. Please.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“It’s old-fashioned.”

“Iamold-fashioned. And so is Margaret’s mother.”

“Well, we’re not, Mom. We aren’t that way.”

“Joseph, trust me, sheis.She just doesn’t want to rock the boat. She wants to make you happy.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” I said, keeping my voice light. I didn’t want to upset her—or myself.

“Look, Joseph,” she said with a weary sigh. “Just don’t let her get away. I think you’ll be really sorry if you do. You need a partner in this life, and I know you think I’m always nagging and pressuring you—”

“Because you are,” I said with a laugh.

“I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you to ever look back and think, ‘Could I have done more? Been more? Done it differently, better?’ I’m just trying to help you—”

“I know, Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “And I appreciate your concern—I really do. But I got this under control.”

—

Just a fewweeks later, Margaret told me that one of her best friends from high school had just gotten engaged, after dating the guy for only six months. She seemed a little upset—maybe even jealous—and I wondered if maybe my mother had been right after all.

“Whoa. Six months? That seems a bit fast,” I said, treading carefully.

“I disagree,” Margaret said, holding my gaze. “I think…when you know, you know.”

I knew what she was getting at. More important, I knew thatsheknew thatIknew what she was getting at. I had to say something. “Yeah. That’s true…but every relationship is different. Every situation.”

“Obviously,” Margaret said.

I pretended not to notice her annoyed tone as I added a footnote. “And who knows, maybe she’s pregnant!”

“Oh?” Margaret said, her eyebrows rising. “Because that’s why couples get engaged? Because theyhaveto?”

“No. I just meant…I don’t know…I just don’t want you to feel bad that they got engaged before we did,” I said. I’d finally addressed the elephant in the room.

Margaret stared at me for a few seconds before nodding. Then she said, “ShouldI feel bad about that?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, then,” she said wryly. “I guess I won’t.”

—

A few monthslater, as I felt myself getting closer and closer to pulling the trigger on a ring, Margaret had to go out of town for a conference, so I went to the Hamptons for a long weekend and a little final soul-searching.

The morning I arrived, I headed straight out for the beach, taking Thursday for a long walk. About a mile up the shoreline, we came across a photo shoot of some sort. I planned to pass on by, but as we got closer, I spotted a gorgeous blonde who looked vaguely familiar. I lingered in the general vicinity for a moment, tossing the Frisbee I’d brought along for Thursday while trying to get a better look.

It crossed my mind that this wasn’t something I should be doing—using my dog as a prop to meet a woman—but I told myself that it was harmless. Besides, just because I was about to get engaged didn’t mean I had to stop interacting with half the population of the world. I was capable of meeting someone without it leading to flirtation, let alone sex. Heck, I could even view this as a test. If I couldn’t handle a simple interaction with a stranger on the beach, it would be a clear sign that I wasn’t ready to get engaged. Better to find that out now rather than later.

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