The One Where She Got Engaged

Last fall, Ant and I planned a trip to Washington. He’s been slowly working his way through every Major League stadium. I’ve been on a slower, messier mission to see every national park. Washington had both, so we booked the flights and figured out the rest later. Which is his style, not entirely mine. At the time we were planning, wildfire smoke was making the North Cascades a gamble, so we stuck to Olympic, Mount Rainier, and Seattle. That felt like more than enough.

We landed in Seattle, rented a car, and hit the road. Hours of driving later, we reached La Push, which, yes—if you know, you know—is exactly where you think it is. We stayed at the Quileute Oceanside Resort, which sits right on the reservation and shares the shoreline with Olympic National Park. I’d stalked the listings until I found one last cabin open—deluxe, slightly out of budget, and completely perfect. Big glass windows on three sides, a king bed, hot tub, kitchen, waves right outside the door. I felt like I had pulled some kind of trick by booking it and we've already discussed our return visit.

That first evening we ran around on the beach like kids. The tide was low, the sky was pink, and the rocks looked like they were rising up out of a different planet. We stayed out until it got too cold, then soaked in the hot tub while the windows fogged up around us.

The next morning, we drove into the Hoh Rainforest. It had just rained and everything was extra green, extra quiet. We joined a ranger-led walk, which is one of those things I used to think was corny but now always end up loving. Afterward, we went back to the cabin, threw a frozen pizza in the oven, and packed up a bottle of bubbly and some matches. Fires are allowed on the beach if you have a permit—and if you can actually get one going. I tried. A few times. Gave up. But as we sat back and watched the tide roll in, the wind shifted, and the fire caught on its own. One of those tiny wins that stays with you. We stayed out there for hours, just watching it burn down.

From there we moved east. I’d found a spot on Lake Sutherland—a little cabin tucked into the woods with a dock out back and mountain views in every direction. We hiked a ridge trail early in the day, then ended up at Lake Crescent where we swam and borrowed a paddle board from a guy who just offered it up. That part still makes me smile. People can be really kind when you’re not in a rush.

I may or may not have lost my National Park Passport at the Lake Crescent Lodge. I took a few months to get back but I never had that pit in my stomach so I knew it was safe somewhere.

Later that night it started to rain. Not a storm, just a quiet, steady drizzle that settled in for good. I’d wanted to kayak, but there was a little lightning. Ant suggested we go sit on the dock anyway. We’d been filming these silly little dances on all our trips—something between a slow dance and interpretive comedy—and he figured we should do one here too. It was damp, my hair was doing its own thing, and I was barefoot. He was dressed a little nicer, but I didn't notice much. He played “Something Stupid” on his phone. We swayed for a while. At one point he spun me around, and when I turned back, he was already down on one knee.

Of course, I said yes.

The rest of the night was easy—champagne, hot tub, a couple calls to family. We stayed up late and didn’t say much. The next morning it felt like we’d floated into something new, though I couldn’t tell you what exactly had changed. Just that something had.

Rainier was our final park. It’s a place with a reputation—a mountain that often refuses to show herself. We stayed along a teal river in a cabin with big windows and a deck that looked out onto rocks and water and trees bent sideways from years of wind. The first night, no sight of her. The next day, still nothing. Just low clouds and mist and a kind of quiet that made everything feel far away. We spent the day hiking through fog, getting soaked, taking it slow.

On our final morning, we woke up before the sun and drove toward Paradise. I didn’t let myself hope (unless you call mentioning it about every 5 minutes hoping.) But as we climbed, the clouds thinned, and then—there she was. Massive, layered in snow, lit from behind like she’d been waiting on us. It actually stopped me in my tracks. We hiked to Fremont Lookout that morning, and for once the mountain stayed put. Clear views the whole way up. We laid on the rocks at the top and just... existed. Didn’t need to narrate it. Just breathed it in until the clouds rolled back in around ten, like someone had hit a light switch.

Seattle was the last leg. Baseball game, fish market, too much food. Surprisingly enough, I had never heard of Pike Place Market. Of course, Anthony had. I could've spent all day there. The rows of fresh flowers combined with the smell of fresh fish was pretty insane. Everything was so delicious but one of my favorites was Le Panier, a French bakery. We got some pastries and a baguette, and I was in heaven. Also, shout out to Rachel's Ginger Beer - love me some ginger beer. It was the perfect slow ending to the week.