the cause of it.
All right, so he had nothing to do with the stalled subway.
But I do find myself thinking life’s minor—and major—disruptions would be much easier to handle if we were engaged.
Then I find myself thinking, in sheer disgust, that I really am one of those marriage-obsessed women after all.
I’m Kate, when she was hell-bent on marrying Billy. All she ever wanted to do was speculate on the status of their marital future, ad nauseam. Raphael and I thought she was our worst nightmare then. Little did we know she’d be even scarier once she had the ring on her finger and a formal Southern wedding to plan.
Now here I am, my own worst nightmare.
How did this happen?
As the train hurtles toward uptown, I tell myself firmly that it didn’t happen—yet—and it won’t happen. I will not focus my energy on an engagement that may or may not be imminent.
If Jack wants to marry me, great.
If not…
Well, not great. But not the end of the world, either.
Mental note: time to stop dwelling on getting engaged.
This wanna-be-fiancée stuff is getting old. I need to toss my secret stash of bridal magazines and stop asking everyone—except Jack—why he hasn’t proposed yet.
Not that I’m going to ask Jack, either.
I’ll have more patience than…well, more patience than I had with Will, for whom I waited an entire summer.
In vain, I might add.
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