THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE BEACH opened into morning, and still in a haze of love and wine and sex we woke up early and drove into Amagansett in Matty’s car. We found a spot easily—it was early enough that the streets were nearly vacant. The only people out and awake were parents with their young children, presumably letting the other partner sleep in. Tricycles tottled down the road, training wheels bumping behind. A couple in jogging outfits passed by us, talking.
We got coffees and muffins at Jack’s and then walked down to the beach. It was early, maybe seven A.M., and I was still wearing Tobias’s sweatshirt. Besides a few early-morning runners and two women practicing yoga, the beach was ours. The salt air was cold and the coffee was warm and the sand was wet. I cuffed my jeans at the ankles and we decided to stroll.
“I’m so glad we did this,” I said. “It’s heaven out here.”
The beach was foggy and gray—it felt as cozy as a fireplace and red wine in winter. I grew up in California, and still there is nothing quite like an East Coast beach to me. I had the feeling, walking along the shore, that if I sent a bottle out into the sea it would keep going until it reached its destination. From the shore everything looked wide and open and calm—which was, in that moment, how I felt about us. The details of life that had begun to weigh on us didn’t exist out here. There were no alarm clocks or opposing schedules or underwhelming jobs.
“I’m glad we came out, too,” Tobias said. He pulled me in and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“We should come back in the winter. I bet no one’s here.”
“Shh,” Tobias said. “Let’s focus on now.”
He took my hand. His fingers were warm from holding his coffee and I curled mine around his. We walked like that, barely talking, for upward of half an hour. The ocean was meditative—the crash of waves felt energizing and lulling all at once.
When Tobias dropped to his knee, I thought he had fallen.
I offered my hand to help him up. My gaze was out on the ocean. It wasn’t until I heard him say my name that I turned and realized he was kneeling.
He was wearing that smile—golden and wide with just a hint of mischief. “Hey, Sabby. I wanted to ask you something.”
“No,” I said, although it was the exact opposite of what I felt. All of it—every cell in my body—was lit up with yes.
“I love you. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. There’s no one else in the world for me. You’re it.”
“You’re kidding,” I said. “Stop. Come on.” I couldn’t believe it. It felt surreal—like we were just in a watercolor and at any moment might be washed away.
“I’m not.” Tobias looked up at me, and I saw the boy I had met all those years ago on a very different beach by an entirely different ocean. “Sabrina, will you marry me?”
The sea crashed next to us, and I remember thinking I wanted to scream my answer. I wanted to compete with the wild force of the water. But I also remembered our conversation a year ago and Tobias’s resistance.
“Are you sure?” I said, trying, in a moment, to ground us. I didn’t want this to be because of me. I wanted it to be because of him. I wanted him to want it.
Tobias smiled. It was close to a laugh. “I’m asking you to marry me and you’re asking if I’m sure.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, now, that’s tricky. Yes, you’re asking if I’m sure or—”
“Yes,” I said again, cutting him off.
He pulled me down into the sand and kissed me. There was no ring; I didn’t even notice.
We went back to our bungalow and had chilled champagne and, when it started to rain, took the comforter from the bed onto the love seat and watched the movie we had that first time—Roman Holiday. Tobias downloaded it on his computer and hooked it up to the TV with some kind of jumper cables.
Tobias had made reservations at the Grill—a fancy East Hampton establishment—but we ended up canceling. We ate complimentary sour-cream-and-onion potato chips and drank the red that Tobias had brought out instead.
There were no frantic calls to parents or Instagram posts. All that mattered on that East Coast beach was us and the promise we’d just made to each other. Forever.