The rest was a total mystery. I've never been one to demand a certain cut, color, clarity and carat.r
One day in late May, Roger announced over dinner that he wanted to treat my father to a Yankees/Nationals game. They were scheduled to play in DC on June 16th. Originally, the invitation was open to my mother and me, but I knew better. "No, you boys go ahead, and Mom and I will do girly-girl things that day." Weeks later, my mom had to cancel on me, and then, I scored tickets from work which meant I was going to go to my first-ever Bands in the Sands at the Community Bay Foundation. Roger and my dad, a fellow New Yorker, headed to our nation's capital to enjoy America's past time.
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While us girls were frolicking in the sand sipping our massive Orange Crushes and having our faces painted, Roger dutifully texted me to say that he was running late... very late. This was around 7 -- after the game had ended and two hours after Bands in the Sand had begun. But I wasn't too worried. He was with my dad, and I was with the gals. Another text buzzed me at almost 8. Good news. Roger was finally back in Annapolis, but my parents had the nerve to delay him by asking him over to the house for wine before he joined me. Hullo?! This is not an all-day Roger/parent love fest. I wanted to see my boyfriend. And, no offense, to my lady friends, but there was a reason I requested 6 tickets and not 5. But while my friends worked magic distracting me with the discovery of the most awesome glow stick vendor table ever, little did I know Roger had a very good excuse for his tardiness.
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Rewind several hours. At the game, Roger and my dad were sipping beers when they both became hungry. Roger offered to go buy hot dogs, allowing my dad to partake in a candid conversation with some fellow baseball fans. He leaned over and admitted to a father/son duo that Roger was going to ask him today if he could marry his daughter. Roger was going to ask at the game but he was too nervous. So not until the game had ended, and they were almost home, did he blurt out while stopped at a traffic light, "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to ask, but can I marry Alexandra?" As the story goes, without hesitation, my dad responded with, "I wondered when you were going to ask. It's alright with me but... you have to ask her mom."
That was something Roger was unprepared for. Wasn't tradition that the future husband only need ask the daughter's father for her hand in marriage? Roger had to be thinking, "Lordy, lordy. Guess the Bertrand family's a little bit different." A decision was made that my dad would give my mom the heads up, and Roger would then stop by -- hence the excuse that he'd been invited over for a glass of wine.
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Roger finally arrived to see my mother hard at work in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner. He tried catching my dad's gaze to see if he'd tipped off my mom as to what was going on. Ever the goofball, my dad gave a sly smile and a small shake of his head to indicate, "You're on your own son."
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So it was time to bite the bullet. "Mrs. Bertrand, I have something important to ask you." Her response, "After you try this beet." Very politely, Roger declined her offer, but my mother's a determined lady.
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"Just try it."
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"I really don't want one," he said.
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"Just take a little bit."
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"Please, Mrs. Bertrand. I don't want the beet."
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She finally caught on and asked, "What's more important than your health?!"
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Deep eath ... "Marrying your daughter." And just like that, she completely gave up on her badgering him about food and as tears came to her eyes, she hugged Roger. There was plenty of reason to pop open a bottle of wine after that.
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Meanwhile, I was busy confiding to my girlfriends that a certain piece of jewelry had mysteriously disappeared from my jewelry box. Whatever could that mean?
