The Marriage Proposal: On a Rocky Ledge with a View

The Marriage Proposal: On a Rocky Ledge with A View

Susan Fusco- Fazio

Our first home together was in Cohasset, Massachusetts, with stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean from the large bay window in the living room. There was a wood stove for heat and a small kitchen with a small refrigerator. We had been living together for three years with only a toaster oven, hot plates, and a convection oven to bake in. Finally, we graduated to a real stove and oven that I must have talked the landlord into getting for us. We turned the bedroom into an art studio space and hid our double bed behind a fabric curtain in the foyer.  Our rental apartment was one of three that existed within a large stone mansion at 430 Atlantic Avenue, on a prestigious scenic coastal road. Paul and I lived on the second floor which afforded us wonderful wooded and water views from every window. We reveled in our ocean abode: inviting  friends, family, and neighbors over for drinks, music, and summer beach days at nearby Sandy Beach. We spent much of our free time outside in nature; Paul running and biking along the winding seaside roads, and me setting up my easel and painting the sky views over the sea,  the rocky beaches, and the salty lagoon in the backyard of the majestic house we were blessed to live in.

I was only a few years out of college and working at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts as a secretary when I moved in with Paul in his apartment in Cohasset. Paul was working with his brother, brother-in-law, and his father in the family business, what he hoped would be a transitional position. Paul was also an artist, and at that time he was making color pencil drawings of interiors and still life, while I focused on the local landscapes. Sometimes we would paint or draw the view from our bay window together during the off seasons. As time went by, we both agreed that I should change to a part time job in order to have more time for painting. I entered art exhibits and art competitions, won awards, sold some paintings, and acquired some local recognition. A Boston art consulting firm scouted me out to sell my work to corporate buyers. My future as an artist and our future together was looking bright.

Paul purchased a green Old Town canoe for us to explore the Cohasset waterways and its islands. Before one canoeing adventure, Paul said he would pack a lunch for us to have on one of the islands. We launched the canoe into the waterway behind the house. We paddled through calm waters surrounded by dense and slightly browned autumn vegetation. The red, yellow, and orange leaves had been dimmed by the constant kisses of wind blown salty sea air. We banked the canoe on the mucky shore of an island, then stepped out of the canoe in our hiking boots. Gone were the days of summer flip flops. It was October 16, the anniversary day of our first date seven years prior; a date we held dear and observed annually. 

We climbed up the large boulders by hand and foot until we found a soft landing. I untied the sweatshirt from my waist and spread it over the flattest rock I could find. Paul emptied out the contents of his green knapsack; a box of Stoned Wheat Thins, Vermont Country Cheddar, red grapes, Granny Smith Apples, a bottle of Mateus Rose wine, a pocket knife with a corkscrew, and two wine glasses carefully wrapped in cloth napkins. We sipped our wine, bit into coarsely sliced cheddar on top of salted crackers, and gazed out at the sparkling water and swaying autumn leaves. It was a beautiful sunny fall day; not too cold, not too warm and not too windy. It was a perfect time and place for a marriage proposal, Paul had thought. And so it was decided that day, that yes, we would in fact get married. Paul and I remember the moment differently, as two people with individual perspectives often do. Paul recalls that I hesitated when he asked, “Will you marry me?” and I paused and said, “Maybe,” then a few minutes later after another pause, I said, “yes.” I remember it differently, though I do recall the pauses, but I didn’t see it as  hesitation, but as a transitory moment of reflection. 

In 1983 on the day of the marriage proposal, Paul and I were both 26 years old and had been together for seven years, living together for almost three. We had no immediate plans to marry. We were happy with our living arrangement, enjoying our time together and the freedom we felt came with it. We hadn't seriously discussed marriage or any particular timeline, but we did talk about wanting to have children together.  So here I was on this perfect fall day, perched on a rocky ledge with Paul. We were happily in love with each other with a marriage proposal hanging in the air. I wanted to spend my life with Paul, but I was afraid that marriage might take away what we had. To Paul, a proposal was the inevitable progression of being with the woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Before I met Paul, I had witnessed unhappy marriages all around me, and adulterous escapades in the neighborhood I grew up in. My parents' marriage was happy when I was younger, and then ended in divorce in my teens. I watched my once idyllic happy family life become fragments of change. My experiences cast a shadow on my dreams of getting married someday. I worried that marriage caused the death of a love. When it was time for me to venture into the world to find love, I told myself that when I did find love, I would guard it with my life, and not let it become tainted by the society’s expectation that it must lead to marriage; which I feared would choke the life out of a loving relationship. 

Paul had a more idyllic view of marriage. His parents were together. For me, the prospect of getting married held a host of mixed feelings and complex emotions. Each of our life experiences had informed who we were. Paul saw the world in black and white and I saw the world in shades of grey. Decisions came with more difficulty for me. Paul was more decisive. 

Paul and I started dating when we were both sophomores at Boston College. Paul planned to ask me out, but wondered why I was away a lot on the weekends. When he asked me,“Do you have a boyfriend in Connecticut?” I said that I went home a lot because my parents had just filed for divorce. While I was falling in love and forming my own understanding of a male and female relationship, my parents were on the other end of dissolving their own love relationship. In contrast, Paul told me that his parents seemed to be a happily married couple. They didn’t talk much to each other, but he had rarely seen them argue. I suspected that his parents might not be as happy as he claimed they were. It seemed odd to me that they never fought and that they didn’t speak much to each other. That didn’t seem ideal either. Perhaps they hid their real feelings I pondered, which didn’t seem healthy to me. He assured me that they would never be getting a divorce. After I met his parents, I firmly believed that this was true.

About six months into our relationship, Paul and I decided it was time to meet each other’s families. The plan was to meet my family first. Paul and I took the Amtrak train from Boston to Connecticut. My Mom picked us up at the train station. When we got into the car, the first thing my Mom said was, “Did Susan tell you how crazy our family is?” We laughed and Paul was put at ease by my mother’s sense of humor and her way of finding comedy in difficult times. When we got to my house, we were told we would have to sleep in separate rooms. Paul would stay in my brother’s room since he was staying with my father. According to my mother, It was the proper thing to do. 

A few weeks later, Paul decided to take me to meet his parents in the South Shore of Boston. His parents informed Paul that I would be staying in his sisters’ room and he would sleep in his old bedroom. On the drive down to Hingham, Paul asked me not to tell his parents that my parents were going through a divorce. I reluctantly played along when his mother asked me if my parents did date nights like they did on Saturday nights. I was horrified to pretend, but to please my boyfriend I answered with, “Oh yes, they still do that.”  After I told Paul that it wasn’t fair to me, that I felt negated, he didn’t wait long to tell them the truth. Originally, I thought he was trying to protect his mother who was against divorce. Later, I surmised that Paul wanted his mother to see me for who I was as he did, without judgement. In both cases, our families embraced our chosen partner and welcomed each of us into their homes.

Years later, when we moved in together, it was a different story altogether.  Both of our mothers felt social pressure regarding whether or not to reveal our cohabitation to others.  My mother told me that she was okay with us living together, that it would give us time to see if it worked out, a luxury she didn’t have. However this didn't stop her from telling our relatives and her friends that I was “shacking up” with my boyfriend Paul.  Unknown to me, my Mom was caught between generations; my grandmother and her aunts told her they disapproved. Because we could be out in the open about this, it gave way to my aunts, uncles and grandparents asking questions and making comments during holidays and at family gatherings. “When are you two getting married? “You know, you both are not getting any younger.”  “If you want children, you had better get started.”  “Your sister Lisa got married. Isn't it time for you and Paul to tie the knot?”  What are you two waiting for?”  This went on for a few years. 

Paul’s mother had a harder time with us living together. Being sixteen years older than my mother, she was essentially from an earlier generation. She was more traditional and considered my mother to be more modern, especially because of the divorce.  She decided to keep our living arrangement a secret from most of her relatives and friends. She did tell Paul’s siblings, but said to keep it private. Paul and I were also expected to keep this secret from his extended family. Subsequently there was no meddling from his relatives; no questions about how serious we were, or when we were getting married at the family holidays, weddings, and summer cookouts.  But this did not stop Paul’s mother from making innuendos directly to me. The comments usually occurred when we went to their house for dinner, after Paul and his father sat in the living room and his mom and I washed and dried the dishes together.  My favorite was, “You know Sue, if a man is getting the milk for free, he won’t buy the cow.”

Both of our families hoped that we would soon get married and start a family. Our two mothers told us we were hinging on “past peek,” if we ever wanted to have children. Both felt that women should marry young, in their twenties, the ideal age for child bearing.  Both were raised Catholic and lived in times when premarital relationships were strictly prohibited and birth control was out of the question. My mother married at 21 years old in 1953 and had four children within five years. She would come to tell me the story of when she visited a priest to ask for absolution because she couldn’t fathom another pregnancy and wanted to go on birth control. The priest told her, “ You are one of God’s chosen mothers,” then he pounded his fist down in the confessional and refused to give her his blessing.  Paul’s mother was married at 27 years old in 1945 and proceeded to have several pregnancies, a few miscarriages, and eventually yielded five children. As time went on, both women let go of much of their Catholic beliefs and allegiances to the church. Both became forward thinking; giving their own daughters approval for using birth control.

Both Paul’s mother and my mother were stay at home women. Each took great pride in running the household and tremendous joy in raising children. Their husbands were entirely dependent on them for meals, clean laundry, a clean house, etc. Both women were entirely dependent on their husbands financially and for transportation. Both told me their stories; how each found the motivation and courage to get their driver's licenses despite spouses resistant to them having this kind of independence.

Each of our mothers had given up some of their own personal dreams and life styles prior to marriage. When my mother was in high school she was the valedictorian of her graduating class and wanted to go to college to become a teacher. Only her brothers were allowed to attend college. She also wanted to become a lounge singer since she had a great singing voice and had sung on the radio and stage when she was younger.  Instead, she became a secretary in order to contribute to her family’s household income. She hoped to get married and  move out of the house: the only career for her and many other women of her generation. My mom went back to work when we became older children, when I was in high school. Living in an unhappy marriage, she knew her ticket to freedom lay in her ability to make a living; to become independent and finally be able to get a divorce.  Paul’s mother had dreamed of getting married and having children and she waited for her suitor to finish his term in the Navy so that she could finally get married.  She moved into the suburbs and loved raising her family, but missed cultural life in the city of going to the theatre, operas, and  museums. Both of these smart and talented women became housewives and poured all of their love and work ethic into raising their children and keeping their husbands happy. They were both intelligent, avid readers, excellent cooks, great mothers, and proficient household managers, often sacrificing their own personal needs for the good of the family. 

Because of the sacrifices of my mother, my grandmother, and the woman that came before me, I was given the opportunity to go to college and to choose a career of my choice. I was able to entertain dreams of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, an art therapist, or a teacher and an artist. I also entertained dreams of being married and having children; though I knew I wanted to have fewer children than our parents, to have time for my career. Unlike my forbearers, the women of my generation were told that things could be different for us, that if we wanted to we could have it all; a family and a career.

I had witnessed my own mother’s and other women’s struggles; how much they had sacrificed for their husbands and families. Though most stated that they felt immense pride in their accomplishments of motherhood, their independence and personal aspirations were often thwarted by their roles of wife and mother.  My reservations for getting married went beyond the worry of lost love and the possibility of divorce. I was also worried that my sense of self and individuality would fade and die out within the institution of marriage. 

So on the day of our marriage proposal, while perched on a ledge with Paul and overwhelmed with emotion, I had a view of the past. All at once my upbringing, my fears, and hopes rose up within me.  I was suspended between the past, present and the future. All of my experiences, thoughts, and feelings were channelled into the energy of collective wisdom. I felt a jolt of mourning for the past before a ray of light came in to challenge it. This mishmash of feelings called out to me and told me to trust what I felt for Paul and what he felt for me, to have faith in our future and in my own future, that life would be different for me: that I could be married, keep love alive and still be Susan. What Paul saw as hesitation and a pause was a moment when time stood still and waited for me, so that I could be ready to look directly into Paul’s eyes and answer his marriage proposal with, “Yes, I will marry you.”

Paul refilled our wine glasses and we held them up into the air to make a toast to our love and to our future. I leaned back into Paul’s arms as he kissed and embraced me. I wanted to freeze the moment and stay in his arms forever, feeling warm, safe and secure. I knew what I felt in that moment. I was sure of it. All was clear to me. We gazed at the view together. A fog was emerging in the distance, soon to be looming over the trees and obscuring the horizon. The future was hidden from us. I peered into the fog and noticed energy dancing in the mist. I wanted to paint this illusive fog. We knew it was time to head back. Paul packed up the knapsack and I took a last look around, to mark the moment in my mind. 

When we got back to our apartment we knew exactly what we wanted to do. We went into the kitchen and picked up the rotary phone attached to the wall. We would call our mothers and tell them the news. We called my mother first, both putting our ears near the receiver to hear her response. My mom, said, “Congratulations. This is great news!” Then we called Paul’s mother. Paul took the phone to make the call, “Mom, I have good news, Susan and I are engaged.”  We each placed our ears next to the phone to hear her response. “ Oh good. It’s about time!”

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Note: Shortly thereafter, I painted a foggy view of the small cottage on the rocky beach from the bay window in the living room. Paul later made a snowy view of the cottage from the same bay window with colored pencils.