Love and Lobster Coastal New England Weddings

We’re happy to begin another first person series of planning posts as we follow our writer Jackie as she navigates the process that she’s come to know so well here for the last year. Say hello, and check back every month to hear what Jackie is up to next!

I’d had a feeling that Nick was about to propose.

We’d been living together for two years, first in a cramped apartment in Portland’s West End, then in a cute one-bedroom across the Fore River with water views and a bathroom painted an unnatural shade of orange that can only be described as “Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.” It was in that apartment that I began to imagine spending my life with Nick, and for the first time contemplated marriage with a stir of excitement instead of the rush of panic I’d felt through most of my 20s when I thought about walking down the aisle.

Last Valentine’s Day, we headed out for a romantic dinner at Fore Street, one of Portland’s most talked-about restaurants. We ate mussels and drank wine, high on the splurge and warmed by the fire crackling in the hearth. The mood was right, we were dressed up all fancy and it was Valentine’s Day — a fitting setting for a guy to get down on one knee.

BUT, Nick knew I was no fan of the restaurant proposal. We’d covered the topic in previous discussions about getting engaged. Along with “I don’t need a diamond” and “I’d rather talk about marriage first than be surprised, thank you very much,” I’d told him a public proposal was just not my thing. While a man broadcasting his love for the entire world (or at least the entire restaurant dining room) to witness makes some women swoon, I knew I’d feel self-conscious. All that attention at such a private moment would freak me out and I’d wind up thinking “Oh that lady at the corner table is not ordering breadsticks as my man is professing his undying love,” instead of actually enjoying the moment.

We ordered dessert, then paid the bill and hopped into Nick’s old Ford truck. That car is rusted, unreliable and will not pass inspection this winter without an act of God, but I’ll always have a soft spot for it. I was sitting in its passenger seat when Nick and I made plans for our very first date more than three years ago. He gave me a ride home at the end of our shifts at the restaurant where we both worked, and we made plans to watch “Boondock Saints” the following night. I was going for a slightly aloof and mysterious air as we said goodnight, but the truck’s sticky passenger door wouldn’t open. “How do I, uh, get out?” I asked. “Oh…just give it a push? Like that? Riiiight, there she goes, ok, yep, g’night.” Smooth.

Nick drove us up to the Eastern Promenade overlooking Casco Bay and stopped the truck. I knew something was up at this point, not only because it was an unscheduled detour, but also because Nick executed a roughly 10-point parking job to position the truck juuust so for the best view. We got out, he laid a blanket out on the truck bed for me to sit on and broke out two wine glasses.

Then he got down on one knee, looked me in the eyes, and…said what I’m sure were some incredibly romantic things that I admit I only vaguely remember now. I recall him holding my hands, speaking to me without a trace of the nerves I’d expected him to have. I, on the other hand, experienced most of the proposal in slow-mo, with a soundtrack of “This is happening. This is happening! This is HAPP-EN-ING!” playing on repeat in my head. I did manage to blurt out a “Yes!” and hold my hand steady enough for him to slip on the pearl engagement ring.

Now, eight months later, we’ve finally started our wedding planning in earnest. After writing about the topic for Love & Lobster for more than a year now, I can list several amazing caterers from memory, tell you the season’s hottest bridal color, and prepare for rain on the big day, among other things. But somehow, I’m still a little clueless.

I have a feeling I’ll figure it all out though.