"Wouldn't MIND being married to ME?" I may or may not have shouted along the sunny banks of the Seine that Sunday afternoon. "Oh, let me write that on a Hallmark card. I wouldn't want to twist your arm or anything!"
We started laughing at this point. As John explained later, his statement was actually a huge revelation. Neither of us had planned to marry young. We were going to travel the world and have interesting careers (I had planned to win the Pulitzer Prize at the very least). While marriage and family may have vaguely been in the cards at some point, we weren't in a hurry to get there.
So (as he would later explain), realizing that a lifetime commitment (much sooner than ever dreamed of) didn't sound so bad... well, it was quite a big deal.
Still -- at the time, I was not impressed. So, I said, quite sarcastically and with no serious intent at all: "John H., will you marry me?"
And he looked at me with all seriousness and said "Yes. Yes I will."
Well. I didn't know WHAT to do with that. I had been joking. He was quite serious. And then... he didn't ask me back.
We returned to Dijon that night, and had a wonderful week with my host family and friends. Christine and Denys did in fact like John right away. The fact that he spoke fairly good French probably helped. Near the end of John's visit, Denys took me aside and said John was a rare catch, and that I must (il faut) marry him. I didn't have the heart to explain to him at that point that I had, in fact, asked him already, and was just waiting for him to ask me back, and that once I had any news on that front I'd be sure to tell them. Instead, I just agreed that it would be a great idea to marry John.
I attended my classes all week and we toured the city in between lectures and lessons, leaving John with plenty of opportunities to propose. But as we walked past the palace of the dukes, as we sipped coffee in my favorite coffee shop, as we took leisurely strolls through city parks... he didn't ask me back.
One night, we took a train to Beaune for dinner, and shared what seemed to be a very expensive half bottle of wine (which has survived the dozens of moves we made since then and can still be seen in our house in Canada). Although he had many great opportunities to ask me that night (as we sat on a bench in front of the Hotel Dieu, as we wandered down the cobble stone streets, as we shared that tasty small bottle of wine)... he didn't ask me back.
He could have asked me the first night in the south of France too. But he didn't -- although that was probably for the best. We had taken an overnight train and I had slept poorly and woke with a terrible headache. We were able to check into a hotel early and I slept most of the day away. John found a pharmacy and returned with France's version of Tylenol and some food. And that's about all I remember of March 19, 1993.
John said he was waiting for the right moment to propose. He said he would know it when it happened. And the next day, he would be right.
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