Engaged and (Not) Loving It

by Cari Dubiel

I should have realized there was a problem with my engagement when my mother-in-law proposed to me.

I wasn't the sort of girl who dreamed of being married. It was something I expected to happen at some point; I thought of myself as a quiet, bookish nerd, who might enter a relationship with another quiet, bookish nerd and have a quiet, bookish marriage. I had a few boyfriends, and I may have gotten a little stalker-obsessive when they dumped me (sorry, boys). Beyond that, relationships weren't on my radar, and certainly not in the long-term plan.


When I met Ed, things changed. At twenty-one I was suddenly contemplating life as part of a twosome. My boyfriend was kind, intelligent and funny. He loved and cared for me more than I'd thought possible. The relationship wasn't perfect — nothing is, I've learned — but it had turned my view of love upside-down. It was no longer a concept to be cynical about, an abstraction. It was a foundation for something more. The idealism I'd fought off kicked in, and I started to believe we could pull off a life together.

We'd had a fight the day we got engaged. It was Ed's birthday and we were driving an hour and a half to have cake with his parents. Neither of us was feeling particularly well — I had a headache, and he had a stomachache. By the time we got there, we were surly and silent. I was mid-bite when Ed's aunt Lori said, "So, when are you two getting married?"

I frowned. Ed said, "Would you stop asking?"

Lori pushed it. Thin, blonde and ebullient, much of her success in life comes from her ability to push without being overbearing. "You've been together three years — you have to have talked about it by now!"

I continued to frown. I could see Ed's mom getting fidgety in her seat. Something she and I have in common: we can't keep secrets. Meg Cabot has a character called the Queen of Babble — she can't keep anything in. Between me and my mother-in-law, it'd be tough to crown that queen. I began to get suspicious. Something was up.

Ed mumbled, "Well, we were going to look at rings tomorrow..." Which was true, although we didn't feel like talking about it after our fight.

The secret burst from my mother-in-law's lips. "Why would you do that when we have that big fancy ring in my jewelry box?" she exclaimed. Lori looked at Ed, Ed looked at his mother, and my mouth dropped open.

"I was going to do it in a few weeks," Ed said to me by way of apology, but it didn't matter. It was already out.

In retrospect, I can't blame her one bit. I probably would have done the same thing. But that day I was dumbfounded as my mother-in-law went for the ring, produced it, and crowed at my now-husband, "Ask, ask!" He murmured, "Willyoumarryme," and I could only say yes.

**


I love my husband's family; they're part of my own family now. But as we began planning the wedding, I started to see them as the enemy.

We were the Hatfields and the McCoys from the start, and to this day I can't figure out how Ed and I are so compatible when we came from such different environments. My mother wanted a sit-down dinner with 75 guests. His mother wanted to invite every person she'd ever served in the drive-through at McDonald's. My mother screamed that Ed's mother was "a demon with no taste." Come to think of it, I was seeing my family as the enemy, too. They had the guns aimed at each other, and I was trying to avoid the crossfire.

I nearly lost it when my mother-in-law showed me her dress for the wedding. It was white. She said it was beige, but it was most definitely white. And lacy. In fact, it looked a lot like my bridal gown. I asked politely if she would like to wear a blue sweater with it, so she would "match the wedding colors," but in my head, I was screaming.

Looking back at all of it now, it seems so crazy to paint the picture of that time as painful, but it was. When I had to explain to my relatives that holiday traditions would have to change or when I put my foot down about where the wedding would be held, I was quivering inside. I was a cowardly, scared little girl having to tell these Baby Boomer adults, figureheads of my childhood and my husband's past, what would and wouldn't happen. I had to summon courage I didn't know I had, build walls from pieces of my former self.

**

I can't say I wasn't relieved the day I walked down the aisle. The weight had lifted from my shoulders. I had spent the night crying because the rehearsal didn't go quite the way I imagined it, but when I thought about the fact that both families had come together and managed to remain civil to one another, I realized that Ed and I had achieved something great. Now that we had stood up for ourselves as a couple for eighteen months, we could start to work on ourselves and our marriage in peace.

My sister was single at my wedding. She met my husband's best friend —they were both in the wedding party. They took an immediate liking to one another and began dating. They recently got engaged. I wish them all the love and trust I've come to experience in my own marriage. But when they plan their weddings, I hope they take a good long look at their own selves, at their own families, and bring the perspective that engagements so desperately need. As beautiful as love is, as beautiful as marriage is, a wedding can be a nightmare. Thank God I've woken up. NewsSip

copyright © 2010 by Cari Dubiel

More Stories