We had spent all day traveling from San Diego to New York, and had finally gotten to our apartment in the city.
We crawled out of our Super Shuttle, and climbed the five story walk-up like mountain goats on the brink of death.
Depleted of energy, we slunk down the stairs like children, and scattered across the avenue to grab a bite to eat. We came to the front door of the restaurant, but were sadly unhappy with the menu. Hungry for food, we kept walking around the block until our faces were frozen, and the hairs on the inside of our nose felt like tiny icicles.
We found a quaint space with exposed brick walls, a wooden bar, and decor that looked like it had been picked out of a 1920's classroom. There was a black and white silent film projected on the back, and the city outside the window was bustling with people in large coats, and dogs walking briskly down the street with their owners.
We toasted with a couple glasses of Malbec, and sank back into the night of the city.
After dinner, we went back to our apartment. We had climbed the five story walk up in true California form: huffing and puffing, wondering how my parents ever did this with my brother, Jevon as a baby, and with groceries.
I placed my purse on the couch, and turned to my suitcase to grab my winter coat. When I turned around, Ryan was on one knee. As he held my hands, he asked me to marry him. Magically, a fake diamond ring slid through his palm and into his fingers. He told me that the next day we were traveling to the Diamond District to pick out the ring that I wanted.
I was so completely caught off guard. Little did I know that Ryan had planned the whole proposal in advance: asking my parents for their blessing the week prior. | 
