Member-only story
Four years ago, my then-boyfriend got down on one knee on a dark beach in New Zealand and asked me to marry him. I knew he would propose; we’d already talked about getting married. I even suspected the day because I woke up that morning and threw on sweatpants, only to have my sister insist I wear a dress and look nice. (Protective sisters for the win!)
I said yes and we celebrated. Well, my sister, Nathan, and I did, anyway. Most of our friends who were in New Zealand with us — all seven of them — said nothing when we made it back to the shared house we’d rented. Two of them were mad we’d deviated from the driving plan to propose. Others just wanted to sleep and get on with the vacation. It was a foreshadowing of all that was to come.
A year later, we got married. We had a hundred-person wedding in California, where I grew up and near to where much of his family lived. We had ceremonies and functions for days leading up to the event and we paid for lunch and dinner for friends and extended family. My uncle and aunt let us use their large house and gorgeous backyard for all the pre-wedding festivities.
Two months later, we had a reception in D.C. Like the wedding, it was an open-invite and anyone who saw the Facebook post or heard about it was welcome to…
