Refund on a Love Promise

I booked a fifteen-thousand-dollar Valentine’s proposal gig. The bride-to-be’s vision matched my own dream exactly, with an outdoor lawn, champagne towers, and a floral castle built from imported roses. Oak trees lined the space, wrapped in fairy lights and hand-drawn heart cards crafted by the groom.

By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat, my hair stuck to my cheeks, my clothes clinging to my back. I sank onto the grass, rubbed my lower back, and sent my boyfriend a selfie. “This is the absolute minimum standard,” I wrote.