Adam extended his hand to grab for mine as my eyes and brain competed with one another, racing to take it all in. He looked exceptionally handsome in a hand-tailored Tom Ford suit that was the perfect shade of navy against his olive skin and dirty-blond hair. Oh, how I loved that suit on him. He paired it with a long coat, which he left open despite the plummeting temperature. The air was cold, but thankfully there was no wind, just a chilly stillness, the kind that comes before a soft snow.
I gave Adam’s hand a squeeze and allowed him to guide me through the archway that led to a mostly wide-open street, the crowds held back behind the partitions. The middle of Rockefeller Center was roped off or blocked by decorative fencing, except for two side entrances guarded by large men in black suits.
As we stepped under the trellis, the notes of “Helpless” from the Broadway production of Hamilton floated out through the space, and I couldn’t help but hum along. Emerging from behind one of the burly guards at the side entrance and hooked up to a head mic, an actress who looked a lot like Renée Elise Goldsberry (wait, is that . . .) was singing out to the crowd. She appeared from the right, while a beautiful young woman who resembled Phillipa Soo, bundled in a faux-fur coat, approached from the left.
I opened my mouth to tell Adam that these actresses looked and sounded just like the original cast members of Hamilton, but quickly closed it, certain he wouldn’t remember—even though we’d seen it on opening night. He didn’t know anything about theater and could pretty much take it or leave it but always got us tickets for the hottest shows in town, knowing how much I enjoyed it.
After the women finished their song, they grabbed hands and left the scene as the music changed to another recognizable tune, “Come What May” from Broadway’s hit musical Moulin Rouge, which inspired a whole new round of cheers from the crowd. As a flurry of dancers dressed in tight corsets and colorful fluffy feather boas entered from the side opposite where the others had left, I scanned the space for cameras or some kind of indication that maybe 30 Rock was hosting a Christmas Eve spectacular or something? But an ever-growing crowd armed with their phones and GoPros seemed to be the only “cameramen” in sight. I craned my neck to look at Adam’s chest for a VIP lanyard or pass, wondering if maybe that would explain our special access, but didn’t see him wearing one.
As the actors made it to the center and I could finally get a good eyeful of their faces, my jaw almost hit the asphalt. “Holy crap, is that Aaron Tveit and Karen Olivo?! They were, like, the actual leads in the show.” I gawked, eyes bulging in Adam’s direction to make sure he was understanding the magnitude of this moment, and his eyes met mine with a warm but knowing and mischievous smile.
My brain couldn’t keep up with what I was seeing. The twirling and singing were one thing, but this was a star-studded spectacle in the heart of Rockefeller Center?! Adam pulled me by the hand into the middle of the square set in front of the iconic skating rink and golden statues of trumpeting angels. The cheers from the crowd competed with the miked singers who made their way into their places as the music swelled around me. I felt like I was in a movie—no, a Broadway-style alternate universe—and I couldn’t catch my breath or stop my mind from spinning like the costumed cast before me.
Wait, is this all for me?
Finally, the closing notes of the medley’s section of “Come What May” faded out, and the music shifted to an upbeat throwback I recognized immediately. As a Danny Zuko look-alike gyrated and sang about his chills multiplyin’, the rest of the T-Birds and Pink Ladies flanked the lead duo.
“Oh my God, is that Sutton-freakin’-Foster?! Am I dead?! Is this a dream? Adam!!” I clasped my hands over my mouth and marveled at the cast of dancers singing around the ever-effervescent Foster playing her very best (winter-clad) Sandra Dee.
How does she look so cute in a blonde bob?! Look at her feet go! Ahhh, jazz hands! Oh my God. Oh my God! Adam wrapped his arms around me and mouthed along to “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease, complete with the ooh ooh ooh honeys.
Somewhere between laughing and awe, I realized what this was, and my laughter quickly caught in my throat. My chest tightened and my giggles shifted to tears of joy as Adam got down, in the middle of Rockefeller Center, illuminated by the extravagant eighty-foot tree, in front of Sutton-freakin’-Foster, and asked me the question I’d wanted to hear from him since the moment I’d given him my whole heart six years ago.
The cast and music fell to a hush, and the crowd, astonishingly, followed suit. But Adam was miked and said clearly for what felt like all of New York City to hear, “So, after being rendered ‘Helpless’ from the moment I first looked into your eyes, ‘Come What May,’ I know that ‘You’re the One That I Want,’ today and every day for the rest of my life. Avery Jean Lawrence, will you marry me?” He pulled the famously recognizable Tiffany-blue ring box from his coat pocket and popped it open to reveal a ridiculously gorgeous four-carat Asscher-cut stunner tucked inside.
I looked around to take it all in. There was a hum of electricity in the air, and the magic of it all was almost like how I imagined Disney princesses felt when swept off on horseback into the sunsets of their fairy tales. The flashes of cameras twinkled like stars in a galaxy that was made just for me.
Adam glanced up, waiting for my answer with hopeful but assured eyes. My face broke into a wide grin, and I shouted, “YES!” before pulling him up and leaping into his arms. With a wave of his hand, he cued the cast to break out into their final song, “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” We kissed in the center of the spectacle, and like the grand finale of a fireworks show, the music swelled and the cast pulled out all the stops, finishing with an actual shower of snow flurries, too perfectly timed to even be real. It wasn’t, of course. I caught a glimpse of a few well-disguised snow machines tucked behind large topiaries and had to laugh. Adam was always one step ahead, and I was impressed at how he really had thought of everything. The crowd exploded into applause, and the cast came up to quickly congratulate us before hurrying out of the square, the flurry of activity matching the dance of the snowflakes through the brisk air.
Adam took me by the lapels of my winter-white peacoat and kissed me again, almost sweeping me off my feet. The fifty thousand twinkling, multicolored bulbs strung to the famous tree behind us were no match for the thousand-watt smile I was wearing from ear to ear. The moment was positively perfect, and I could hardly believe it was my reality.
I drew back and cooed, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Mr. Daulton.” And punctuated the sentiment with a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose.
He pulled me in tightly for a hug, wrapping me into his coat against his strong chest, and whispered close to my cheek with a warm breath, “This, my love, is just the beginning.”
Chapter Two