I never thought I’d find myself here, sitting in my family’s garden in Chile, watching the love of my life teach my abuela how to properly fold dumpling wrappers. The December sun casts a warm glow over Casandra’s face as she laughs, her Korean-German features lighting up with joy while explaining in perfect Spanish how her mother taught her this technique.
“Pedro, mi amor, come help us!” Casandra calls out, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She knows I’m hopeless in the kitchen, but she never stops trying to involve me.
“I think I’ll stick to what I’m good at – being the taste tester,” I reply, earning a playful eye roll from my sister Javiera, who’s busy preparing nachos nearby.
My tío Roberto nudges me with his elbow, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “When are you going to make an honest woman of her, sobrino? You’re not getting any younger.”
I feel the familiar warmth creep up my neck. At 48, I’m well aware of time’s passage, and my family never misses an opportunity to remind me. But watching Casandra seamlessly blend into my boisterous Chilean family, switching effortlessly between Spanish, Korean, and English as she chats with various relatives, I know I don’t need their prodding.
“Look at her with Mama,” my aunt María whispers, pointing to where Casandra is now teaching my mother a Korean lullaby. “She’s natural with family, Pedro. And those maternal instincts…”
“Ya, ya, I know,” I mutter, but I can’t help smiling. At 35, Casandra has this incredible maturity about her, yet she maintains this infectious childlike enthusiasm that makes everyone around her feel alive.
Later that evening, as the family gathering winds down, I find Casandra sitting on the old swing set in the backyard. The fairy lights strung across the garden cast a magical glow around her.
“Your family is trying to marry us off again,” she says with a knowing smile as I approach.
“Can you blame them? You’ve charmed them all with your five languages and superior dumpling-folding skills.”
She laughs, that melodious sound that first captured my heart on set two years ago. “You know,” she says, switching to German, which she knows I’m trying to learn, “I wouldn’t mind making them happy.”
My heart skips a beat. “Was bedeutet das?” I ask, probably butchering the pronunciation.
She stands up, moving closer to me. “It means,” she says, now in English, “that maybe your family isn’t completely wrong about us needing to take the next step.”
I pull her into my arms, marveling at how perfectly she fits there. “You know, I’ve been carrying something around for the past month,” I admit, reaching into my jacket pocket. “I was waiting for the perfect moment, but maybe perfect is right here, with my family’s chaos in the background and you looking beautiful in my abuela’s garden.”
Her eyes widen as I drop to one knee, pulling out the vintage emerald ring I’d carefully selected. “Casandra Lee, you walked into my life speaking five languages and completely scrambled the only one I knew well. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? We can start with all those children you keep promising my grandmother.”
She laughs through tears, pulling me up to kiss me. “Yes, you ridiculous man. Though we might want to start with one baby and work our way up.”
The cheers and applause that erupt from the house confirm what I already suspected – my entire family has been watching from the windows. Casandra just laughs harder, calling out in Spanish, “¡Vengan todos! Time to celebrate!”
As my family pours out into the garden, hugging and congratulating us, I hold Casandra close, whispering in her ear, “Thank you for making me the happiest almost-50-year-old in Chile.”
She responds in perfect Spanish, Korean, German, French, and English – “I love you” in every language she knows. And I think to myself that sometimes the universe gets it absolutely right.