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1 January 1990
Dec. 30th, 2010 11:15 pmNew Year's Day is quiet.
It's peaceful and restful and very welcome after New Year's Eve, which had been loud and busy and late, so that Meg and Alain were more than two hours into the new decade when they finally got back to her apartment after his parents' party.
So New Year's Day is quiet, a sleep late kind of morning that drifts into an afternoon that they spend only half-watching whatever movies are on television. Her roommates are still away for the Christmas break, meaning she gets an undivided day with Alain, which is still a fairly rare thing. It is, all in all, a perfectly lovely way to start 1990.
"Meg?" Alain says. They're settled on the couch, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, in a way that's comfortable and familiar and right.
"Hmmmm?" she says, turning a little to look up at him. It's late in the afternoon, and she's just starting to wonder if there's anything they can cobble together for dinner.
"It's a new year," Alain says.
"And a new decade."
"Yes. And you should do something to mark the start of new year, right?"
"You mean, like, resolutions?"
"No, I made up my mind a long time ago about this," he says.
Meg sits up a little more, so that she can see his face better. "About what?"
Alain takes both of her hands in both of his. "Meghan Margaret Ford, will you marry me?"
It's not a surprise, not really; he mentioned it for the first time almost a year ago, and they've talked for months about the future like it's a place they're together, and yet . . . for a second, all Meg can do is smile at him.
And then she nods. "Oui, Alain Michel Gagné, je t'épouserai."
"Thank you."
"Je t'en prie," Meg says, and then laughs and kisses him, all at once. "Je t'aime."
"I love you, too. And," Alain says, letting go of her hands to pull a box out of his pocket, "I need to give you this."
It's not a ring. It's just a diamond, a brilliant round diamond, sitting in a small velvet box. "Alain, it's . . . "
"It was my grandmother's," he says. "But the ring was badly worn. Oncle Sylvain's friend, M. Tremblay, is a jeweler. He took it out of the setting for me. I thought tomorrow we could go see him and pick a new one for you. If you like it."
"I think that sounds perfect," Meg says, carefully closing the box again.
"Good."
"Alain," Meg says, suddenly, "let's not tell anyone else yet."
Alain frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Not for long. Just . . . just until we have the ring."
"Why not?"
"I . . . " Meg trails off, looking for words. "I just like the idea that there's something only you and I know. I . . . I kept so many secrets from you, for far too long. I don't know, I just . . . I want to keep a secret with you for a change. I want there to be something wonderful and important and I want it to be a secret I keep from the whole world with you. Instead of a whole world I keep a secret from you. Just for a little while. Is that silly?"
"No," Alain says, shaking his head. "No, it's not silly. All right. We will keep it a secret for now. But once you have a ring," he continues, taking her left hand again and raising it to kiss it, "then I am going to shout it from rooftops and take out an ad in La Presse and tell anyone who will listen. Because you're going to marry me."
"Yes, I am."
It's peaceful and restful and very welcome after New Year's Eve, which had been loud and busy and late, so that Meg and Alain were more than two hours into the new decade when they finally got back to her apartment after his parents' party.
So New Year's Day is quiet, a sleep late kind of morning that drifts into an afternoon that they spend only half-watching whatever movies are on television. Her roommates are still away for the Christmas break, meaning she gets an undivided day with Alain, which is still a fairly rare thing. It is, all in all, a perfectly lovely way to start 1990.
"Meg?" Alain says. They're settled on the couch, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, in a way that's comfortable and familiar and right.
"Hmmmm?" she says, turning a little to look up at him. It's late in the afternoon, and she's just starting to wonder if there's anything they can cobble together for dinner.
"It's a new year," Alain says.
"And a new decade."
"Yes. And you should do something to mark the start of new year, right?"
"You mean, like, resolutions?"
"No, I made up my mind a long time ago about this," he says.
Meg sits up a little more, so that she can see his face better. "About what?"
Alain takes both of her hands in both of his. "Meghan Margaret Ford, will you marry me?"
It's not a surprise, not really; he mentioned it for the first time almost a year ago, and they've talked for months about the future like it's a place they're together, and yet . . . for a second, all Meg can do is smile at him.
And then she nods. "Oui, Alain Michel Gagné, je t'épouserai."
"Thank you."
"Je t'en prie," Meg says, and then laughs and kisses him, all at once. "Je t'aime."
"I love you, too. And," Alain says, letting go of her hands to pull a box out of his pocket, "I need to give you this."
It's not a ring. It's just a diamond, a brilliant round diamond, sitting in a small velvet box. "Alain, it's . . . "
"It was my grandmother's," he says. "But the ring was badly worn. Oncle Sylvain's friend, M. Tremblay, is a jeweler. He took it out of the setting for me. I thought tomorrow we could go see him and pick a new one for you. If you like it."
"I think that sounds perfect," Meg says, carefully closing the box again.
"Good."
"Alain," Meg says, suddenly, "let's not tell anyone else yet."
Alain frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Not for long. Just . . . just until we have the ring."
"Why not?"
"I . . . " Meg trails off, looking for words. "I just like the idea that there's something only you and I know. I . . . I kept so many secrets from you, for far too long. I don't know, I just . . . I want to keep a secret with you for a change. I want there to be something wonderful and important and I want it to be a secret I keep from the whole world with you. Instead of a whole world I keep a secret from you. Just for a little while. Is that silly?"
"No," Alain says, shaking his head. "No, it's not silly. All right. We will keep it a secret for now. But once you have a ring," he continues, taking her left hand again and raising it to kiss it, "then I am going to shout it from rooftops and take out an ad in La Presse and tell anyone who will listen. Because you're going to marry me."
"Yes, I am."
