Mother’s Day, 2006. His favorite month. 

That May morning was full of Appalachian spring. Warm, breezy, soft, sweet.

“We need to talk about something,” he said.

The last time he’d proposed a “talk,” he suggested we see other people. I was, naturally, a bit apprehensive as I sat down at our dining table with a fresh mug of coffee.

We’d lived together for nine years. We’d been dating since 1993 – with the aforementioned break.

“I think we should get married,” he said. “We make a good team.”

I’ve always thought it funny that I was wearing pajamas when he proposed.