It’s been a whirlwind fall. Drew and I met in early September at The Washingtonian: I was an intern, and he’s an assistant editor. My second day on the job, Drew lingered by my desk and asked me questions about my time at the University of Missouri. We had overlapped for two years at Mizzou’s journalism school without meeting. But that day, he had me hooked with his southern accent and kind brown eyes, and I spent the next few weeks in agony. Looking back, we both see how apparent our interest in each other was, but at the time I was a wreck. “Do you think he likes me?” I asked my mom and girlfriends incessantly. “What do you think he meant by this?”
I quickly found out. Our first date was an impromptu trip to the National Portrait Gallery and then Bistro D’Oc, where we ordered red wine and French fries. We took midnight walks on the Hill, shared a first kiss near the Washington Monument, meandered through museums, ate lunches in the park outside the White House, met each other’s friends, read books and poems, went to movies, to plays, to church, to dinner. . . .
At Christmas, Drew surprised me with plane tickets to Nashville, where I met the parents—and the brother, the grandparents, the uncle, the cousins. . . . Thankfully, the few days went better than I could have hoped. It’s hard to explain, but the rhythm was right. I felt at home in Drew’s place and with his people, and I just fell in love with them, too.
Three weeks ago, four months after we met, Drew hung twinkle lights in his dining room, lit candles, bought roses, made French fries, poured red wine, asked me to dance, got down on one knee, offered a breathtaking diamond, and asked me to marry him.
I said yes. I’m getting married to, seriously, the man of my dreams.
Let the Planning Begin
Friends have started giving me wedding magazines, my newly married friend sent me a pretty pink wedding planner, and I bought a huge three-ring binder and printed TheKnot.com’s to-do list (45 tasks are already overdue!). So there’s a lot to think about, but I’m not into being a bridezilla. To that end I’m hoping for joyful wedding planning, for nonconfrontational interactions with everyone involved, and for flexibility. I’ve also got a killer yoga/martial-arts workout DVD, which I think will be amazing for releasing pent-up aggression. Visualizing those faces as I karate-chop . . . just kidding. Kinda.
Do we want the ceremony en plein air or in a church? Before we can decide on that, we have to figure out whether we’re going to do big or small. A quick inventory of the guests we have to invite yields 200, and that’s without consulting our families, who as it turns out want to add several more. So—big wedding it is.
In Caribou Coffee, we cemented our decision to have the wedding in Nashville—a lot of Drew’s family lives there, and it’s a midway point for Missouri and Washington friends and family. It’s as far as heck from my dad’s family in California, but what isn’t? We chose seven beautiful bridesmaids and seven studly groomsmen, comprising sorority sisters, roommates from school, old friends from home, and close family. We picked a tentative Labor Day weekend date, and we’re off. Only 217 days to go, and I can’t wait!
Suggestions for Emily on the merits of a church versus an outdoor wedding? Leave them below.
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