It had been fifteen years since I’d played music, and honestly, I never thought I’d find my way back. On a whim, I stopped by the local music store to see how much a bari sax was going for these days. I knew it was going to be costly, so I wasn’t expecting much, just a paper quote and a maybe someday… The employee I talked to turned out to be siblings with someone I went to high school with. Before I left, they mentioned the Pierce College Community Band was always looking for new members. A few days later, after going back and fourth in my head, I bit the bullet and became the proud owner of a gold Buffet Crampon baritone sax… a total stunner. It’s only been fifteen years; how bad could I be? Eventually, I worked up the courage to show up for my first rehearsal, figuring I’d be the only bari sax player in the room. And then Tommy walked in. Great. Not going to lie, I was a little disappointed. I wanted to be the lone bari. We tend to roam alone, always afraid of getting the hand from the conductor. Now this guy was going to be judging me for using a fingering chart… (little did I know, for the rest of my life). To make things even more dramatic, the band director had recently quit. The whole thing was a mess, but strangely, it was also kind of thrilling. It felt like the start of something new. Pretty quickly, Tuesday nights became my favorite part of the week. I got used to sharing the section, even if this guy was teasing me for asking how to play an A flat. I tried to keep the crush quiet… until I didn’t. After more than a year of sitting next to Tommy every Tuesday, I blurted it out mid-text: “Hey… I have a crush on you.” Turns out, he felt the same. We started with a few casual dates—tacos, cheering on the Seahawks at Buffalo Wild Wings, and cozy movie nights. Things were going great. So we dressed up and went on our first official date as a couple: the Seattle Symphony. As the orchestra played and Harry Potter lit up the screen, the magic surrounded us. Somewhere in that moment, we both knew... this was something worth holding onto.

Spring Break wasn’t supposed to be wild. Just Melissa, me, the kids, and a chill trip to see her family in Phoenix. Classic family stuff, nothing crazy. Until I ended up in the ER. The day before, we’d melted our way through the zoo in 102 degree heat. Naturally, I thought I was just dehydrated. “Quick IV, and I’ll bounce back,” I told Melissa. Nope. The doc comes in like it’s a season finale reveal: COVID. I’m horizontal and useless for 24 hours, and my proposal plans? Oh yeah, essentially ruined. The original plan was sweet, I swear the Museum of Musical Instruments, some quirky charm, then boom! Proposal moment. But instead, I’m stuck in bed, barely able to sip water, while Tracy’s chicken noodle soup goes uneaten (sorry, Tracy). Eventually, I claw my way back to semi-human form, and we go to this dreamy little Mexican place, Rokerij’s Hideaway. Cozy firelight everywhere, and suddenly the trip is feeling kind of magical again. After dinner, we decide, why not top it off with a night hike? So we’re heading up Shaw Butte, stars above, ring in pocket, nerves fully kicking in. But halfway up, my stomach goes rogue. Like, now-or-never emergency. Ulcerative Colitis doesn’t care about romance. By some miracle, I dig through my backpack and find these crumpled paper towels I'd totally forgotten about. That saved me. Sort of. Not really the vibe I imagined for a proposal. But we get to the summit anyway, sweaty and slightly traumatized, and I figure I’ve come this far, let’s do it. I say, “Will you Bari me?” because I still had the music museum idea in my brain and she just looks at me like I’ve spoken in Morse code. “Huh?” Then she sees the ring, and boom. Tears, laughter, the whole thing. We sat up there for a while, just staring out at Phoenix, all glittery and still. Not how I planned it, but weirdly… kind of perfect.