My goodness, dear reader—you’re back once more? How much of these two people’s love story do you need? Or wait—you say I’ve been holding back the best bits?
Well. I resent that slight to my earlier work.
I don’t put pen to paper (or—I guess, it’s 2025—keys to word processor) for topics that aren’t engaging, pure of heart, and deeply meaningful. Or—I guess I do, but in those cases I’m paid quite well. And I can assure you that Macy and Joey are getting a screaming deal here.
But in that last sentence hides a clue as to the meat and potatoes of this fourth and final installment. As a quick reminder you can find the complete works here if you've missed any chapters.
Before diving into the interviews I conducted with both Joey and Macy, I’d like to thank you for coming along on this journey. You didn’t need to read a word of this and it means something to me—and to Joey and Macy—that you’ve cared to indulge us this narrative trifle.
And, despite my light derision and sometimes sarcastic tone, I do want to say it’s been an honor getting to put these words before you.
Why Write Any of This?
I’ve always been bad at doing things in the correct order, and I was definitely out of order here—realizing well into this whole exercise that I hadn’t yet asked Joey the most obvious question:
“So, why are we doing this?” I ask, as a not-so-subtle way of questioning his sanity.
“Weird time to ask,” Joey says, settling back into his seat with a fresh beer. “We’re over an hour into this.”
“Well. Maybe I’m just now realizing none of this matters. Maybe I’m bored hearing about it. Maybe I’m thinking it’ll take all of my considerable skill to make this thing readable—and that takes effort.
“So… why should I bother?”
He grins. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“I don’t actually feel that way,” I say. “But you’ve got to imagine at least one reader is asking the same thing. And your answer determines whether this is the story I know is worth telling.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a go. I know it’s a small story, with minuscule stakes in the big picture of—you know—everything. Hell, even in the frame of what this story means to the people who are closest to us, the stakes are still tiny. If something tragic happened tomorrow, and Macy and I split, everyone’s day—except our own—would go on more or less the same.
“That’s not to say they wouldn’t care. Or that they wouldn’t be there for us. I know—intimately—that neither of those things are true. And I’m thankful every day for that.
“But still—that’s the reality.
“We’ve spoken for over an hour, you’re planning to write thousands of words, and in the end it’s all about something the world could—and would—keep spinning without.
“But that’s not how it feels.
“It feels, to me—and I hope to Macy—that it’s the exact opposite.
“And at its heart, this is why this exercise is so important.
“Because to be in love—and to build a relationship—feels like you’re turning the axis of the earth to spin around something that, in the end, only you really understand. And you do it without the permission of anyone else on the planet. Because you’re not shifting that tilt for them. They go on, not realizing this force has pulled everything out of line.
“Or maybe—they’re caught up in their own seismic tilt too.
“And because we’re celebrating our wedding, it feels appropriate to try—desperately and futilely—to show the people we love, who’ll be attending, what it feels like to be inside this high-stakes operation when, in the end, it isn’t the same stakes for them…”
“Joey will probably say something about the shifting of the planet’s axis or whatever,” Macy says, when I ask her the same pointed question.
“I think it’s just because we think it’s a fun story. People have asked to know more. And we’ve really loved getting to relive these moments leading up to such an important day in our lives.”
Again, and I can’t reiterate this strongly enough, my coffee date with Macy—and our subsequent walk around around the Potter Highlands—was by far the more enjoyable of the two interviews.
Sorry Joey. Still love ya.
On Engagement Stories
“So we round the corner and we’re starting to walk back to our apartment, and I’m talking about—of all things—how I can’t believe T-Pain has a residency in Las Vegas,” Macy says, laughing. “A friend had mentioned she went, and I was just going on about it.”
“Joey tried to politely interrupt me, but I was kind of in the middle of this important T-Pain story, so I just kept going. Then he really jumps in—like, kind of insistently—and points at our porch, where there are flowers and a bottle of Lambrusco set out that definitely hadn’t been there when we left the apartment ten minutes earlier.
“I was kind of in a daze, but I started to realize in that moment what was happening.”
“So… you’re a big T-Pain fan?” I ask.
Macy laughs and shakes her head no—but it’s one of those funny little details that stands out in the retelling. I doubt she had “T-Pain cameo” on her engagement bingo card, and yet here we are.
But even as I tease what’s fun and unique about Macy and Joey’s engagement story, I want to pause and acknowledge that, yes, we’re now officially entering engagement story territory—a part of the narrative that, to be honest, might come with a bunch of invisible “Exit Here” signs for readers. Maybe even for you.
And look—I get it.
Engagement stories are a dime a dozen—which makes them a perfect emblem of the theme of this part of our story.
These stories are deeply important to the people inside them, but that importance doesn’t always transfer cleanly to anyone outside the immediacy of the moment. A lot like the feeling of being in love.
And they’re common. Almost everyone who’s married has one, and for them, it’s often the most meaningful thing that’s happened in their relationship up to that point.
You can hear it in the retelling—there’s intimacy, there’s pride, there’s that little pause before they describe what it felt like, because they’re so excited to relive it.
These stories are a pearl hidden at the heart of an oyster—tender, imperfect, glowing with that kind of iridescent sheen that only the people it belongs to can fully appreciate.
And when they take the time to crack it open and offer their story to you—clutched in both hands, raw and a little awkward—you can appreciate it, even if you know you’ll never completely understand it.
Or maybe it’s just kind of boring to you. That would be fair as well.
So, what I try to listen for in these stories isn’t just the X’s and O’s of what happened, but what they’re trying to tell us about themselves—and the way they feel about the other person—through the act of telling it.
All of which is to say: if engagement stories aren’t your thing, I won’t be offended in the slightest if you skip this section.
And I’ve been assured—neither will Macy or Joey.
Mission Overview
Now, I know I’ve given Joey a fair amount of flack throughout this exposé (it’s out of love, mostly), but I do have to give him credit for—if nothing else—successfully executing this engagement.
Not because it was the most elaborate or grand. I mean, it happened on a Thursday evening, just outside their apartment—not on the steps of Montmartre with the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the background.
There weren’t the usual theatrical moving parts that make these things “impressive”—no hundreds of roses, no string quartet tucked behind a hedge, no drone shots, and no large group of friends and family waiting breathlessly at a secondary location.
It was just a few friends, some nice flowers, a couple bottles of wine, and a walk around their Potter Highlands neighborhood on a cool March evening.
But what was impressive was the level of detail Joey brought to orchestrating the whole thing.
It all started with a very elaborate Google Doc. Titled—of course—Mission Overview.
I don’t want to use the word “psychotic,” but it’s… thorough. We’ll link it below.
“Out of the blue, Joey texted me a link to a doc labeled OPERATION ‘ENGAGEMENT’: TOP-LEVEL CONFIDENTIAL,” says his brother Timmy, when I call him up for a bit of background. “It was fifteen pages long. The first line was, ‘Operatives, your mission, should you choose to accept it…’ and then it just goes from there—minute-by-minute timeline, annotated maps, scoping photos of the exact location, photo guidance, the whole thing.”
“If my sibling sent me something like that,” I reply, “I’d start checking for fallout shelters. Next time I’m at their house, I’d expect to see a wall full of red yarn like Charlie in Always Sunny.”
“It crossed my mind,” Timmy confirms.
Despite what this may reveal about Joey’s particularities, the document was genuinely impressive.
The mission parameters called for four operatives—Wrangler, Porsche, Cruiser, and Navigator—also known as Timmy, his girlfriend Casey, and mutual friends Shane and Shayna Farnsworth. As soon as Joey and Macy left their apartment for the walk, the plan kicked into motion: Timmy would move Joey’s strategically parked car to ensure clean sightlines for the photos. Casey would stage the flowers and sparkling Lambrusco on the porch. Shane—an industry pro with a camera—would hide across the street and track the scene from a long lens. Shayna was stationed in the apartment window to capture a second angle.
“I mean, I really really don’t want to give Joey credit,” says Timmy. “But he had the whole thing dialed in to the minute. Casey and I were waiting in our car at the designated location so we wouldn’t be spotted when they left. And everything went off without a hitch.
"It was… a rush.”
The Day Of
“So Macy gets home from work around 5:30,” Joey recounts, “and I suggest we get dressed up a little early and take a wine walk before dinner. I know the team is in position, so I’m… lightly hurrying her along.”
“We head out, and I’m trying to act normal—but I can feel my heart in my throat. Luckily Macy’s in a talkative mood, which saves me. I can just nod and ask a few questions. I’m not in the right headspace to carry the conversation.
“We’re on the final stretch. I’m checking my jacket pocket every thirty seconds to make sure the ring box is there—and that the backups are still in place.
“Yes, backups. A buddy of mine told me he proposed using a fake ring in order to keep the proposal a surprise, while still getting his—now wife’s—input on the real one afterward. I thought that was brilliant. So I ordered three fakes on Etsy. That way, if she didn’t like the first one, she’d have options.”
He continues, “Anyway, we’re approaching the porch, and she’s in the middle of telling me—no joke—about how Pitbull or someone has a Vegas residency. I’m trying to get her to look at the setup on the porch—flowers, wine, the whole deal—but she’s mid-sentence and about to walk right past it.”
“I finally get her to stop and notice. I drop to one knee. I’ve practiced what I want to say a hundred times… and nothing comes out at first. I’m choked up. Macy realizes what’s happening and—this is true—she looks at me and says, ‘No.’”
“Joey loves to tell people the first thing I said when he got down on one knee was ‘No,’” Macy says.
“Well—is it true?” I ask, laughing.
“No. I mean—technically, yes. But it wasn’t a no no, you know?” she smiles. “I was just in complete shock. Of course I said yes. Then we kissed, had our moment—and suddenly Shane is there with a camera, and Timmy’s there, and Casey’s there, and Shayna’s yelling from the window. It was surreal.”
“How did you feel in that moment?” I ask.
“It’s hard to describe. So much was going through my head—joy, obviously, but also a lot of pure shock. That feeling kind of takes over at first. But when we went around back and there were more flowers, more wine, and I finally got to actually look at my finger—that’s when it really hit me. I just felt so completely happy. Like, overwhelmed in the best way.”
“I loved the way our engagement went,” Joey adds. “I wanted it to feel like a little time capsule of our life together at that point—of who we were and where we lived. I think we nailed that.”
“Any final thoughts on the engagement?” I ask Macy as we round the same corner they did that evening.
“Lots,” she says. “But I’ll leave you with this: if you go to a fancy restaurant and get the full tasting menu, be careful with the drink pairings. Our dinner was six courses, and each one came with its own drink. Everything was delicious—and way too much of it was definitely consumed.”
She laughs. “The next day, when we were calling people to tell them the good news, I remember being extremely happy… and us both being in mild pain. I was really glad I had that Friday off—randomly.”
“Wait—did Joey even know you had the day off?” I ask.
“Not a clue,” she says. “I think he planned for everything else… but that part slipped through. What a lucky guy.”
“The engagement was so lovely—I think because it feels like a chapter marker in our lives. Like it freezes in amber what life was like at that exact moment. I want to be able to look back at those photos years from now and have it feel like a little time capsule—of who we were, where we were living, and the people we were at that time.”
Final Thoughts
And with that, dear reader, we’ve gone hundreds of words over quota to tell you a story you already knew the ending to.
I’m extraordinarily glad you’ve come along for the ride. I can’t wait to see you at the wedding—I’ll be the one cutting a rug on the dance floor. Please feel free to bring me a Fernet and Coke so I don’t have to miss a second.
As I’ve hinted, there will be a print-exclusive bonus part shared at the wedding. If you’re curious, it should be pretty obvious where to find it.
Thank you, truly, for humoring me—and Joey, and Macy—with this little exposé.
I keep wondering how to end this thing. And for some reason, Puck’s closing lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream keep rattling around in my head—maybe because they feel oddly fitting:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
With love and care,
Nora Factchecker
