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Donald realizes he wants to marry Daisy on a Tuesday morning.
So much of his life has been marked by moments of great tragedy or overwhelming joy. Earth-shattering, life-changing events ranging from his parents’ deaths, to losing Della, to stranding himself on the moon on the brink of alien invasion, to finding the sister he thought ten years dead marooned on the same island as him.
But as dramatically as these grand events shaped his life, it was the smaller, quieter moments that affected Donald most strongly. The Christmases spent hunting Santa Claus with Della. The day he met two international students at his college music club. Watching his boys hatch, take their first steps, learn their first words. On the night he met Daisy Duck, they were stuck in an elevator together for barely half an hour, but in that span of time she came to understand him in a way few people ever have, and fewer even tried.
This Tuesday morning begins with breakfast at Daisy’s apartment. She has an early meeting with her steadily growing board of investors that she stayed up most of the night stressing over, so Donald decides to wake up extra-early to make her favorite, cinnamon french toast. She joins him after showering, still in her robe and hair in tight curlers.
“Mmm, my hero,” Daisy says as he plates her french toast and places it in front of her with dramatic flourish. She tugs him close by his shirt to drop a kiss on his beak before letting him return to the stove.
He’s back at Daisy’s side within moments, taking the seat next to her with his own breakfast. They eat in comfortable silence, his phone still quietly playing a samba from where he left it on the counter. Donald has a forkful of french toast in his mouth when he looks up at Daisy and is simply struck by the sight of her. Her face free of makeup, relaxed and underdressed, Donald thinks that he would like to wake up to this every day for the rest of his life.
This realization is swiftly followed by him choking on his bite of french toast, rather ruining the peaceful atmosphere he was going for, but Donald’s resolution is undaunted by Daisy having to perform the heimlich on him. He wants to marry Daisy Duck, and isn’t that a terrifying and wonderful thought?
They’re coming up on their one year anniversary, and it feels too soon and perfectly timed all at once. He knows with bone deep certainty that Daisy’s the one for him; it’s come to the point that he can’t imagine his life without her. Where only a few years ago his kids were his whole world, Daisy has become just as intrinsic, her safety and happiness just as crucial to him. Donald knows he loves her, and she him, but doubt is an insidious thing. What if she says no? What if his anger, his luck, the adventures, are too much?
Despite his fears, and there are many, Donald is certain of his decision before he even starts choking on his breakfast. Now there’s just the matter of a ring.
He’s no fashion expert, Daisy and his collection of Hawaiian shirts can attest to that, but he’s certainly been around his girlfriend long enough to have picked up a little. If nothing else, he’s familiar with her personal tastes and he knows that she always prefers an understated silver over gold when it comes to jewelry. He can’t afford anything too extravagant either; while he’s managed to successfully keep his latest job as an accountant for a few weeks, it’ll be months before he’s able to even look at a diamond ring without losing money.
Donald already has a sizable savings put aside for anything the kids might need, and it’s a small matter of starting a ring fund. Every week he adds more of his paycheck until the amount is sizable enough for him to start looking into jewelry stores. He visits at least half a dozen different places, tripping and falling into a display case at one and averting a robbery at another, and even worse, not finding a single ring that’s right for Daisy.
Everywhere he goes, every ring he sees looks the same, bland and mass produced and wrong. Daisy is so brilliantly unique and she deserves a ring that reflects that. He’ll take nothing less.
But as his search continues, help comes from an unexpected source.
Scrooge doesn’t often venture onto the houseboat, likely uncertain of his welcome even now, and Donald doesn’t exactly blame him. For years, the houseboat was just his and his boys’, every sign of his life with Scrooge erased and hidden. It’s small, almost too small to contain the sheer presence of the richest duck in the world, the king of the klondike, maverick of the Montana cattle wars. But the walls, previously decorated solely with photos of Donald and the boys, has come to include Webby and Launchpad and Della and even Scrooge, and now all of them are together in the framed photograph Goofy took of them and a genie brought back to him.
Standing in Donald’s living room, Scrooge is the one who looks small, worrying the handle of his cane between his hands. Donald doesn’t bother trying to rush him, taking a seat on his couch with a mug of coffee in hand. He’d offer some to his uncle but Donald’s well aware of his distaste for it.
Scrooge follows his lead, sitting down beside him and setting his cane aside.
“So, I hear you’ve been looking for a wedding ring for our Daisy,” he says without preamble, because no one had ever accused his dear uncle of being subtle.
Donald nearly inhales his coffee, spilling about half of it down his shirt before he manages to fumble it safely onto the coffee table. Even once he’s done coughing up a lung he doesn’t bother asking how Scrooge found out what he was planning; ever since he was a kid, he’d never had much luck hiding anything from him.
“Yeah,” Donald croaks, pounding on his chest. “But no luck yet.”
“Excellent!” Scrooge beams. At Donald’s glare, he waves him down. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, nephew. I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t have a solution.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a silver ring. It’s an elegant band with floral engraving and a sizable diamond in the center. Donald’s reaching out before he’s really aware of doing so, but he freezes at Scrooge’s next words.
“This was your mother’s ring.”
Donald’s heart gives a painful thud. “My mom’s?”
“Aye,” Scrooge says, smiling fondly, and sadly, at the ring in his hand. “And before Hortense, it was Elvira’s. Both of them would have loved Daisy, lad. Her fire, her grit and determination. I believe they would want her to have this.”
He drops the ring into Donald’s hand, who reaches out to trace it’s edges with trembling fingers.
“She was the one who proposed,” Scrooge says, folding his hands in his lap. “Your mum. Took Quackmore completely by surprise, as he was planning on doing it himself. Had a speech prepared and everything.” There’s a faraway sheen in Scrooge’s eyes, pride and grief making his voice thick. “Highly irregular at the time, of course, but that was Hortense for you. Always did things her way and wouldn’t hear a word to the contrary.”
He wraps his hand around Donald’s, closing his fingers over the ring in his palm. “I’m very happy for you, Donald,” Scrooge says.
Donald swallows against the tightening of his throat. Gripping the ring tightly in one fist, he wraps his arms around Scrooge, who raises his arms in surprise.
“Thanks, Unca Scrooge,” he mumbles against his shoulder.
Scrooge clears his throat, tentatively lowering his arms. “You’re welcome, nephew.” He embraces Donald in return, hands trembling against his back. “You’re very welcome.”
A week before his and Daisy’s one year anniversary, Donald gathers Della and his kids in the TV room.
“Alright, what’s this big announcement?” Della stretches her arms over the back of the couch, Dewey and Webby nestled close against her sides.
“Yeah, what’s going on, Uncle Donald? Huey asks, perched attentively on the edge of the couch cushion.
“Well, everyone…” Donald forces down the stirring of nerves in his chest. It’s not as if he hasn’t broached the subject of making his relationship with Daisy more permanent. The kids already call her ‘Aunt Daisy’ for Pete's sake.
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m going to ask Daisy to marry me.”
At first, Donald is met with silence. The kids blink, seemingly as one, and turn to look at each other. Della gets a strange look on her face; like she’s trying not to laugh. They collectively overcome their shock at the same time, exploding with cheers and encouragement.
“Oh, this is so exciting! Then she’ll be Aunt Daisy for real!”
“Can I plan your wedding? I’ve never planned a wedding before, there has to be a badge for that. Let me check the JWG!”
“Ooh, ooh, can I be the ring bearer? And best man? And the maid of honor? I’d be the best ring man of honor ever !”
“People get gifts at weddings, right? Would we be some of those people?”
Della rises from the couch to sock him in the arm and then yank him into a hug. “Well it’s about time, Donnie. Do you have a ring?”
Donald elbows his way out of her iron embrace to pull out the velvet box he’s taken to carrying in his pocket at all times. He opens it and Della whistles at the sight of the ring
The kids cluster around them to get a better look, oohing and aahing.
“It’s old,” Louie observes, though not unkindly. “European-cut diamond set in a platinum floral engraved mounting. Nice choice.”
“Thanks, kids,” Donald replies warmly. He meets Della’s gaze. “It was our mom’s.”
She startles, and looks back down at the ring with renewed awe. “No kidding,” she says. “Where’s it been all this time?”
Donald rolls his eyes. “With Uncle Scrooge, where else?”
“He always did like squirreling away family heirlooms.” Della places her hands on her waist, shaking her head in amusement.
“What was Grandma like?” Huey asks eagerly.
Della grins. “Do you want to tell them about the time she cussed out the president of the United States or should I?”
The kids clamor around them in eager disarray until Donald herds them back onto the couch. As he launches into the epic tale of how a seventeen-year-old Hortense McDuck put President Roostervelt in his place, he can’t help noticing the way Della’s gaze lingers on him, her smile too big for her face.
For their one year anniversary, Donald hooks the houseboat up to a truck and drives it down to the marina. He has no desire to let Launchpad anywhere near it with crane or helicopter, preferring to keep his home intact by the end of the night.
Daisy’s stuck in meetings all day, but come five o’clock he’s outside her apartment wearing a tie and the nicest, least wrinkled suit he owns. He brings a dozen pink roses, her favorite, but he nearly drops them when she opens the door. She’s a vision in a wine-colored off the shoulder dress that hugs her curves and makes her feathers gleam brilliant white. She’s also holding a dozen orange roses, his favorite.
They burst into laughter, standing in the hallway like a pair of idiots, before moving forward to meet each other in the middle. Careful not to crush their respective bundles of roses between them, they melted into each other’s arms.
“How was your day?” he asks, nevermind that they’ve been texting each other throughout.
“Long,” Daisy replies, her beak pressed warm against his temple. In her heels she’s a good two inches taller than him, a fact he delights in. “I missed you.”
Donald leans back, smile incredulous. “We saw each other yesterday.”
“Are you telling me I’m not allowed to miss my boyfriend?” Daisy retorts, her affronted tone immediately countered by the kiss she drops onto his forehead. “Happy anniversary, by the way,” she says, holding out her bundle of orange roses.
“Happy anniversary,” Donald replies, chuckling as he hands Daisy her own pink roses. “Are you ready to go?”
Daisy tugs lightly on his tie, smiling warmly. “Just let me grab my purse.”
Donald leaves his car parked at the marina as he takes the houseboat out into the bay. The lights of downtown Duckburg are distant and glittering by the time he shuts off the engine and drops anchor, and the sun has long since begun it’s descent.
On their way to the marina, they stopped to pick up takeout from his and Daisy’s favorite restaurant and earlier that day Donald liberated a two hundred year old bottle of wine from Scrooge’s cellar. They quickly serve themselves in the houseboat’s kitchen before Donald leads Daisy onto the deck, where he’s set up a small table and chairs and a simple white tablecloth. Unlit candles litter the houseboat’s railing and Donald rushes to light them. Daisy joins him, laughing, and within a few minutes their corner of the deck is aglow in golden light.
Donald’s palms sweat all through dinner, his tongue tying itself into knots more than usual. Daisy’s phone is playing a playlist of gentle Spanish guitar but he scarcely hears it, overwhelmed by her smile in the candlelight, her snorting laughter, and the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket.
Once dinner is done and they’re halfway through their glasses of wine, Daisy tugs him away from the table and into a dance. Donald relaxes some, always at ease with Daisy in his arms, and he twirls her across the deck with practiced ease. While he’s the more experienced dancer between the two, Daisy has been learning fast and it isn’t long before she begins to lead. She surprises Donald when she dips him, her hands warm and sure on his lower back. When he looks up at her, the stars glitter around her head like a halo.
Daisy lowers her beak to his and meets him in a brief but searing kiss. She guides him back onto his feet, holding him close as they sway gently to the music. “Happy anniversary,” she murmurs, more tenderly than before.
“Happy anniversary,” Donald replies, the words catching in his throat.
They sway back and forth for a few moments more before pulling away naturally. Donald guides her over to the railing, the faroff lights of Duckburg aglow behind them. She presses her shoulder against his, their hands remaining clasped, and Daisy breathes in deeply, a contented smile curling her beak.
“Thank you for doing all of this, Donald,” she says softly. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“N-not as beautiful as you,” he replies, a familiar joke between them though his voice nearly shakes too much to get the words out.
Daisy elbows him. “Dork,” she says, breathing a laugh.
Donald’s heart races like there’s a beast on his tail, like he triggered a booby trap and there’s a two-ton boulder rolling toward him at high speed. But the night around them is quiet, the silence broken up by the waves lapping against the hull and the music still playing behind them, and he knows that this is it. His weeks of rehearsing what to say and how to say it will finally come to fruition.
He pulls away slightly, and feels Daisy do the same. “Daisy, there’s, uh, there’s something I wanted to...” he stammers, looking down as his hand inches toward his pocket. He feels a tug on his other hand, the one Daisy had been holding, and he turns back to face her. Only he finds himself having to look down.
Daisy is on one knee in front of him, a blue velvet box open in her hand. A silver ring catches the joined moon and candlelight, erupting in a riot of colors.
“Daisy?” he whispers, scarcely able to comprehend what he’s seeing.
She smiles, glowing in the moonlight.
“Donald Duck,” she says, “getting trapped in an elevator may not be anyone’s idea of a first date, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You saw me when I felt I was invisible and I fell in love with you and your voice and then I kept falling in love. Every day with you is an adventure, whether we’re running after Uncle Scrooge on the other side of the world or you’re surprising me with breakfast. I want to keep having adventures with you, every day for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”
Once, long before the boys were born, Della somehow convinced him to go skydiving with her. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of his life: the feeling of utter weightlessness, the bite of the wind, the sheer scale of the world beneath them. Donald feels a little like he did then, like he’s in freefall, but he’s never felt more secure or more safe.
There are tears brimming in his eyes, nearly blinding him, and his face nearly aches with his smile. He joins Della on one knee, retrieving the little velvet box he’s been keeping in his own pocket.
“Only if you marry me ,” he replies, voice breaking on the words as he opens the jewelry box to Daisy’s gasp.
She moves forward, kissing him deeply and clutching the front of his shirt in her free hand. Donald weaves his own arm around her waist, drawing her close. Daisy’s sniffling as she pulls away first, plucking the ring from the box in her hand. Donald holds his shaking left hand out to her, and she slides the ring onto his trembling finger. He lets out a sound that half laugh half sob when she takes his hand and drops a fierce kiss on his knuckles.
Donald reaches out tentatively. “May I?” he asks, words more garbled than usual, and Daisy whacks him on the chest. With her left hand, he notices.
“Of course you may,” she says, tears dampening her laughter.
He nearly drops the ring twice, but for once his luck holds out. Once his mother’s ring is on her finger he presses her hand back flat against his chest, nearly over his heart.
“I can’t believe you beat me to proposing,” he says, still incredulous.
Daisy smiles sweetly. “I asked Della and the kids for their blessing almost two months ago, tiger. You’re gonna have to be a little faster than that.”
“Two —” Donald gapes. “They knew the whole time? I had a speech ready and everything!”
Daisy wraps a hand around the back of his neck, tugging lightly as she pointedly clears her throat. “Donald ?”
His appalled expression cracks in a smile as she draws him nearer. “Yes, Daisy?”
“I would like to kiss my f iancé now.”
He’s more than happy to oblige.