Joe had been planning to propose for a while—I didn’t know it at the time, but he asked my mom for permission while we were all on vacation. (She was very excited, of course.) Months went by, and he decided he wanted to propose before the end of the year. He took the ring his dad had used to propose to his mom and brought it to the jeweler, hoping it would be ready in time. He dropped the ring off on a Wednesday and crossed his fingers it’d be finished by Friday. That Friday, I came over and I knew something was up. The ring box was on the desk and I secretly checked it, but it was empty. Joe was acting very suspicious all evening as well. He was super protective of his jacket pockets, weirdly jittery, and trying (unsuccessfully) to act casual. He had planned to propose that night, but the moment didn’t feel right. And at that point, the element of surprise was definitely gone. So we made plans to go to the Penn Museum the next day instead, just to enjoy the weekend. Saturday turned into a day we’ll never forget. We wandered through the museum, joined a tour with a guide who coughed on basically everything (yikes), saved some poor mummies from a hornet, and had a really great lunch. Meanwhile, Joe was quietly spiraling—convinced he’d dropped the ring or lost the note he had written. Eventually, we ended up outside in the courtyard. We were the only ones there enjoying the quiet, cold air. It was a peaceful and beautiful scene. Joe looked around and said, “This looks like a pretty good spot.” I said, “A pretty good spot for what?” That’s when he pulled out the note, read it to me, and got down on one knee. I said yes. I cried. We hugged and kissed, and Joe looked so relieved that it had all worked out. It was sweet and funny and very us—and I wouldn’t change a thing.