I am an inveterate romantic. Dan teases that I weep at Hallmark commercials. He’s not wrong. I am sentimental. I save everything. I have a dried sprig of flowers from my wedding bouquet, pressed into my Bride’s Book.
I have a long memory, for good and bad. Dan can make grand gestures when he chooses to, but isn’t sentimental at all. That sets me up for disappointment.
Dan and I began dating in December, 1972. I was still with Bob, but he would graduate at the end of the month and we were both ready to move on. He got me nothing for my birthday on the 10th of the month, but Dan walked into my suite with a lovely bottle of Madame Rochais perfume. I was overwhelmed. We were soon a steady couple. He graduated in May, 1973, but lived locally.
I went home that summer, worked at an overnight camp in Michigan and we wrote and talked to each other regularly. I needed a car, as I would student teach in the fall, so Dan came to my Huntington Woods home and helped me drive my mother’s car back to school (I bought the seven-year-old Valiant for a dollar).
August, 1973
He worked full-time at a software company in Waltham, officially lived with his parents in near-by Newton (we went there every Sunday night for family dinner) but he came to my dorm room later in the evening and slept over.
One evening in late October, he yammered on and on about “when we are married, we’ll do this. When we are married, we’ll do that”. Finally I queried, “Do you really think we’ll get married?”
That seemed to startle him. Yes, he certainly thought we would wed. “Then why don’t you ask me?!” (He was using the “assumed close”, a term I later learned in my sales career.)
He asked, I said yes; he continued with his plans and dreams.
We became engaged. I got my ring for my 21st birthday on December 10. That is when we told his parents. My parents already knew, since my mother had always told me that if I wanted a June wedding in our temple, I needed to book it a year in advance and it was now only eight months away. My father was an officer of our temple, so I’d called him in October to check out dates. I got an excited letter back addressed to “my darling children”.
“I guess we’re engaged, Dan.” We reserved both Saturday night, June 15 and Sunday afternoon, June 16 (my parents’ anniversary) depending on the type, size and cost of wedding we would decide upon.
I went home for winter break and began planning in earnest. We chose the Sunday date at 1pm; a relatively small event with no sit-down dinner. It is what my father could afford. When I returned for my final semester, I found that many of my friends had also become engaged; we all were so happy for one another.
Valentine’s Day was a weekday that year. I ate in the cafeteria with several girlfriends whose boyfriends or fiancés were older, like Dan, and not on campus. Covert plans had been made by several, in league with some of the other women, to sneak cards under the trays to surprise their girlfriends. Flowers showed up in the dorms. There was lots of happiness and celebrating. I waited for Dan to show up. We were newly engaged and I expected something thoughtful and romantic.
I was disappointed. Nothing came, not even a card. And we were supposed to be young and in love. At the peak of wedding planning and romantic excitement. He just blew past it.
For a guy who had made such an impression 14 months earlier with a birthday present for someone who wasn’t even his girlfriend, this left a bitter taste. He still usually doesn’t make a big deal of Valentine’s Day. I am resigned to it now. It’s just who he is.
But last year, he got me an absolutely gorgeous floral arrangement, as you can see in the Featured photo (with the empty perfume bottle, his first gift, in front of the flowers – I told you, I save EVERYTHING). When he wants to, he knows how to make the grand, romantic gesture. And I truly appreciate it.
