Will You Marry Me?

Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio, Lake Como

"My greatest regret? Well, honey, I have never been the type to regret any turn my life took, or any curve it threw at me, you know that by now" replied the older woman to her granddaughter, pausing briefly for a breath up a steep hill while resting on her walking stick.

The two of them were on their monthly outing, hiking, or more exactly scrambling over small boulders for a shortcut across a nearby canyon. Each had grown to relish this special slice of time dedicated to enjoying the outdoors together while sharing the personal tidbits of their lives. The fact that Rose was going to turn 75 in a couple of weeks was causing 20-year-old Valerie to quiz her grandmother relentlessly on her life.

"I know, like, don't bother messing with what's already been or is way ahead of now, but just grab it all right here. Yeah, but Gram, isn't there something, like, you wish you'd, uh, or could do over or, like, erase?"

After a pause so long that Valerie started thinking that she maybe should have kept her mouth shut, the older woman said slowly "Well, I suppose there is one thing." With a shy, almost embarrassed smile, she added "But if you breathe a word of it to anybody, young lady, there will be hell to pay!"

"Oh, Gram, I won't, I promise! Tell me! Tell me!" answered Valerie, her excited anticipation bubbling out of every word.

"Three times. I have been married three times, and I have never received an honest-to-goodness proposal of marriage" stated Rose flatly.

Mouth hanging open, eyes opened wide, Valerie blurted out "You've been married three times? I didn't know that! I know Gramp Anthony, of course, with your silver wedding anniversary coming up. The same day as your birthday, right?"

"Yep!" replied her grandmother with a wicked grin. "I always insisted on having my weddings fall on my birthday!"

"And I know that he isn't Mom's father; Mom's Dad's name was Edward. She told me you two got married when you were 22, and he was killed in a car crash. I guess it was really hard on her, because it was so sudden!"

"Yes it was, on both of us. I was 38 and your Mom was 15," answered Rose. "And..."

Holding her hand up to shush her grandmother, Valerie interrupted:

"OK, Gram, wait a minute! So if Mom's father died when you were 38, and you married Gramp Anthony when you were 50 -- right, since you'll celebrate both your 25th wedding anniversary and 75th birthday next week? --, then that other husband I don't know about was somewhere in between, right?"

"Good math! When I was 41, I met and quickly married a man named Clint. We were only married 18 months before we divorced."

"But Mom never said a word about it! Neither did anybody else. Does Gramp know about him?"

"Of course, he does, silly!  But your Mom was 18 when I met Clint. She had just moved away to college, hardly ever saw him, never liked him and never accepted someone could replace her Dad. I married him anyway, but she never forgave me for it, and, I suspect, was quite relieved when we divorced."

"So! You've been married three times! Wow, Gram! You're, like, some expert at it by now, then, right?" replied Valerie, patronizingly nudging her grandmother with her elbow.

"I guess you could say that, yes!" laughed the older woman. "I always felt  the same as a four-times-married friend of my mother's used to say: 'I'll keep on doing it until I do it right!' "

After throwing her head back with a hearty laugh, Valerie pressed on:

"OK, expert, now tell all: How did you manage to have been married three times without ever receiving a marriage proposal? Did you always do the asking?"

"Valerie! I most certainly did not!" hissed her grandmother. "Things didn't happen that way in those days!"

"So what happened? Pray tell, dear ancient one!" continued Valerie, bowing with feigned respect.

Her fists on her hips, Rose shook her head slightly, as if giving in to her granddaughter's insistence. She walked over to a "comfortable" boulder where she sat down. After a drink out of her canteen and a mouthful of trail mix, she went on:

"Edward and I had been going together for a while and it had been love at first sight. He wasn't what you'd call the verbal type, and always had a hard time coming out with what was on his mind. We'd been circling the issue of marriage for some time without ever actually spelling it out. One day, I said 'When I get married, I'd like the wedding to be on my birthday!' And Edward replied 'Oh it's OK with me'!"

Rose stopped. Sprawled on the leaves on the ground and munching on a blade of grass, Valerie leaned on her right elbow, puzzled, and looked up at her grandmother:     

"That's it?"

"That was it for number one. We were married on my 22nd birthday" Rose answered. After another bite of trail mix and swallow from her canteen, she continued:

" When I met Clint three years after Edward died, I was almost 41 and, as I said, your mother was no longer living at home. It was a whirlwind romance, and an ill-fated one, as it turned out to be. We both knew we'd get married, almost from our first date. A couple of months before I turned 41, we were snuggling around the fire, and Clint said: 'We should probably tell Carolyn.' We were married on my 41st birthday." 

Rose stopped again.

"You're kidding!" exclaimed Valerie.

When her grandmother didn't answer, Valerie sat up and exclaimed: "Another award-winning display of flamboyant style and unerring flair! Oh, you poor thing..."

Ignoring the remark, Rose went on: "Two years after the divorce, I met Anthony. We dated for a couple of years, and lived together for another two. On Valentine's Day before my 50th birthday, he gave me a card which said: 'I am looking forward to spending my life with you.' I wasn't sure what he meant, so I looked at him and said: 'Does this mean you want to get married?' And he replied with a grin 'I suppose so.' And, of course, we got married on my birthday."

Jumping to her feet and brushing leaves off her jeans, Valerie said: "I suppose so? Another one who failed Romance 101! What's with those guys, anyway?"

"For one reason or another," Rose continued slowly, "none of the men in my life could do better than just sort of fall into marriage, and that was that. And that, my sweet little thing, is the only thing that I, the incorrigible romantic, regret." She fell into silence, staring at a lizard traveling across her right hiking boot.

"Did you ever tell this to Gramp?" asked Valerie after a pause, as she handed the walking stick to her grandmother.

"I did, yes, but that was for my benefit more than for his. What could he do about it after the fact, anyway?" answered Rose. After a short pause, during which her granddaughter was silently looking at her, she went on softly: 

"Three weddings, three husbands, and I have never heard a man say to me 'Will you marry me?' For some reason, I never quite got over it… Stupid, isn’t it, for an old untraditional rebel like me?"  And with a half-hearted smile, she murmured to herself: "Isn't that silly, at my age..."  

Shaking off with a sigh the mood of the last few minutes, she slowly got up to her feet and flexed her knees a few times to loosen them up before heading back.

"Oh Gram, jeez it's so sad! I could just cry!" burst Valerie hugging her grandmother.

"Now, now, never you mind," answered Rose, stroking the girl's head. "For all that, sweetheart, don't think I wasn't loved! I have been loved much, often and well. I've had a good life, and I still do. That's what's important!" 

She added sternly, shaking her arthritic index finger at her granddaughter: "Remember, young lady, you breathe a word of this to your mother or anybody else, and you are off my will and in the dog house for ever!"     Arm in arm, they started down the canyon to go home.

A couple of weeks later, April 29 marked Rose's 75th birthday, and her and Anthony's 25th wedding anniversary. Carolyn and her husband Mel, and Valerie and her boyfriend Justin, had planned a feast of all feasts to celebrate both occasions. While showering, dressing and putting on her make-up, Rose savored the excitement she felt about the event. She knew Anthony didn't share that feeling. Unlike herself, the dear man didn't like parties, or being the center of attention. She knew only too well he didn't have a celebrating bone in his body, but she had always forgiven him that flaw.

At age 70, Anthony was undoubtedly the most handsome, witty and charming of her three husbands, besides being the youngest. He was still crazy about her after all this time, as she was about him.

Rose arrived early to greet the 60 relatives and friends who had been invited to join them at the Regency Hotel for an open bar, buffet and dance. She had ridden with Valerie in Justin's car because Anthony wasn't ready when they left and said he would join them later.

Passing by the front hall mirror on the way to the ladies' room, Rose was pleased with her reflection and agreed that she looked stunning in her long silk dress. Its hot pink color enhanced her snow-white short and wavy hair. As the room filled with people holding glasses of champagne, she engaged in small talk with everyone, hugging, kissing, laughing. While totally enjoying the festive atmosphere and being one of the guests of honor, she kept wondering what Anthony could possibly be doing.

As the wait staff started bringing trays and dishes to stock the buffet table, it seemed everyone was here except the other guest of honor. It would soon be time for their toast, and still no Anthony. Where could he be?    

Valerie could tell her grandmother was worried, and volunteered to go look around the lobby and reception area. As she was returning with no news of her grandfather's whereabouts, an announcement came over the PA system. It had to be broadcast twice to be heard over the din of conversations and laughter: "Telephone call for Rose Barton! Telephone call for Rose Barton!" 

Startled, Rose turned abruptly, almost spilling her champagne glass on the suit of one of her old neighbors who was standing next to her. After a hasty apology, she hurried out of the room, her eyes scanning the front hall for a phone booth. Answering her questioning glance, a waiter directed Rose to one of three phone booths tucked under a stairway near the restrooms.

She kicked the folding door shut before dialing the operator for details of the call. Rose took a deep breath to calm the pangs of fear bouncing inside her chest. Anthony! What happened? What's wrong?  When she lifted the receiver to reach the operator, she heard Anthony's voice.

"Rose, honey, it's me. Now sit down, I have something to tell you. Rose? Are you OK?  Now sit down and listen. It will not be said that, like my predecessors, I will have let you down by never 'popping the question.' Better late than never, sweetheart! Rose, my dearest love, it would make me extremely happy and be a great honor if you would accept to be my wife. Will you please marry me?"

"But..., how..., where..." stammered Rose, her left hand pressed on her chest as if to keep her heart from bursting out, her right one holding the receiver against her ear. "What is this? Anthony, is that you? Where are you?" Tears started blurring her vision. Damn, she thought, it's going to ruin my mascara.

After a well-planned pause, Anthony continued. "After you've pulled yourself together -- and beware of your mascara, sweetie! --, just hang up the phone, and come and tell me your answer. I am in the phone booth right next to yours, and I am waiting." And the line went dead.

Stunned, and feeling her face turn crimson, Rose slowly hung up the phone. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue and sniffled a couple of times to regain her composure. After squeezing herself out of her own phone booth, she turned around to check the contents of the next one.

There was Anthony, in his best Italian-cut suit, looking splendid and debonair as ever. He stood leaning against the back wall, arms across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other, à la Cary Grant, his head slightly cocked,  flashing the same irresistible smile that tickled her heart 30 years ago.

“Well, what will it be?” asked Anthony, his head slightly cocked, a quizzical but serious look on his face. “Yes or no?”

After a calculated pause, and a heavy sigh to match the feigned look of indifference on her face, “I suppose so,” she said nonchalantly.