After a relaxing time up north, Nick and Sarah climbed into Sarah`s mom`s Land Rover, which would take them down the East Coast.  They would next be looking at engagement rings in Boston, Mass.  They would also find time to see a Red Sox game while they were there, because Fenway Park was an experience not to be missed.

"Your mom doesn`t mind us just taking her car?" Nick asked as they hit the highway.

"Not at all," Sarah told him.  "They still have two cars, and Mom loves a road trip, so she is happy to fly to Atlanta and drive back."

"Must be a genetic trait," Nick commented.

"You know who`s from Boston?" Sarah asked.

"Yes," Nick said.  "I do.  Aerosmith."

"Yes, and Benjamin Franklin," Sarah went on.  "Also Leonard Nimoy."

"Logical," Nick nodded.  "Mark Wahlberg, Donnie, and all those New Kids, right?"

"Correct," Sarah nudged him.  "I`ll leave you the easy ones.  E.E. Cummings."

"Matt Damon," Nick added.  "And Ben Affleck."

"Who`s the idiot savant now?" Sarah asked, and continued.  "Sam Waterston."

"From `Law & Order`?  Excellent," Nick said, thinking. "John F. Kennedy," he finally remembered.

Sarah smiled.  Sighing and leaning her head back, she added, "Jack Kerouac and Henry David Thoreau.  Wanna bring it home with a good one, Nicky?"

Nick thought.  He looked at Sarah, who was clearly expecting a certain obvious answer.  Not so obvious as the BAND Boston, but obvious enough.  He kept thinking.  Sarah reached over and scratched his head, then knocked on it.

"Sam Adams!" Nick finally shouted.

Sarah laughed.  "Not who I was thinking of, but Samuel Adams was indeed a person before he was a beer.  I was thinking of Conan O`Brien.  You love his show."

Nick raised an eyebrow.  "Let me know when he has a beer named for him," he said.

"Alky," Sarah said.

"No, you ah!" Nick was trying the Massachusetts accent from Saturday Night Live skits with Jimmy Fallon, Rachel Dratch, Horatio Sanz, and, often, Ben Affleck.

They were staying at the Bulfinch Hotel at 107 Merrimac Street, Boston, MA 02109.  It was convenient to almost everything.  Of course, everything was convenient to everything in Boston because of the T.  After years of riding on New York subways, Sarah said that riding the T was like cruising in a Lincoln Town Car. 

Once they checked into their charming, oddly-shaped hotel, they decided to go walk around Boston Common and the Public Garden.  Sarah raced ahead of Nick to a stand that was covered in Red Sox and Boston t-shirts and memorabilia.  When he caught up to her, she shoved a green Red Sox cap on his head and pointedly put a red one on her own.  Nick rolled his eyes up to look at the brim of the cap, which had a white shamrock stitched into it.

"You`ve got to be kidding," he told her.  "If anyone I grew up with sees me in this, I will be dragged off and killed."

"Yeah," Sarah said.  "Like they`d be caught dead anywhere near Fenway Park." 

"They would if the Yanks were playing," Nick commented.

"Not so easy to get tickets, though," Sarah countered.  "I only have a certain amount of pull with certain organizations.  And I would never help a Yankees fan."

Nick reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him.

"You`d help me, though, right?" he said, looking down at her.

"You are the exception that makes the rule," she told him. 

They found some open space on Boston Common and Sarah reached around to grab the Frisbee she had tucked into the back of her shorts.  When she tossed it to Nick and he caught it, he saw that it had the Red Sox logo on it.  He threw it back like they were playing hot potato.  After a few throws, they relaxed into a good game of Frisbee. 

After a while, they stopped and crossed to the Public Garden to do the ultimate touristy thing in Boston.

Nick stopped in his tracks.  "Swan boats?" He asked her.

"I`ve never been on them," Sarah explained.

"What`s your point?" Nick said, cringing a bit.  He knew it was pointless to argue.

"It`ll be over in 20 minutes," she reassured.

When they got into their little swan boat, Nick tried not to look horrified.  But Sarah was very excited about it, so he didn`t say anything.  For a while.

Pointing, he said, "Those baby ducks just totally passed us."

"It`s not NASCAR, Nicky," Sarah told him.

They decided to walk down Comm Ave (named "Commonwealth Avenue", but no one called it that) and look at the buildings.  It was an area for the wealthy to live and shop in very close, expensive, luxurious city blocks.

Sipping a bottle of Sprite through a straw, Sarah said, "I bet this is where Charles Emerson Winchester III would have lived."

"Did they ever give him a street address?" Nick asked.

"I don`t think so," Sarah said.  "But this is the picture I`ve always had in my head," she told him as she gestured to the buildings around them.

"There`s something about MASH you DON`T know?"

"I didn`t say that," Sarah told him.  "I said: `I don`t think so`, so wipe that smug look off yer mug."

They crossed the street and doubled back to admire the houses on both sides, and cut through the Common to Park Street Station.  From there, they rode the Red Line into Harvard Square.  As they walked out of the station, they were immediately thrust into the middle of a crowd.

Walking past shops, Nick looked in the windows and commented, "This is really kinda cheesy."

"I know it, right?" Sarah said.  Gesturing like a game show hostess to one of the storefronts, she said, "Harvard Law sweatshirt?  No degree required.  Just pony up 50 or so bucks."

"No, thanks," Nick said.  "This has all the same stores as, like, a mall."

Sarah looked around.  "I haven`t been here in years," she said.  "There`s this place I went with Dad when I was a kid.  I have to see if it survived the invasion of `Abercrombie`".

Sarah was dragging Nick by the arm.  She stopped at the corner of JFK and Mass Ave.  She looked behind her.  She looked from side to side.

"It`s gone, Nicky," she said. 

"What`s gone?" He asked, putting his arm around her.

"It was this tiny little hole-in-the-wall diner with, like, 20 stools and the best tuna melts," she told him.  "It was called The Tasty."

"It was right here," she said, pointing to the former entrance to the diner.  "Now it`s just ATMs."

She stood there, held tilted, for more than a minute. 

"The Mighty Dollar LITERALLY destroyed The Tasty," she finally said.

"Well," Nick said, "I DO need to get some cash…"

She grabbed his hand.  "We`ll go up the street," she insisted, pulling him along.

They walked into Grendel`s and sat at the bar.  More specifically, Sarah plopped onto a stool at the bar.  The bartender put a cardboard coaster in front of each of them.

"What can I get for you?" He asked.

Sarah answered.  "Harpoon and two Ketel-One lemon drops," she said.

Nick nudged her.  "Is one of those lemon drops for me?" He asked as he looked at the beer list.  Sarah glared sideways at him.

"I`ll have a Grendel`s, I guess," he went on.  "Boston beer while we`re in Boston."

"Menus?" The bartender asked.

"Later," Sarah told him, "after we toast."

When the bartender returned with their drinks, he asked, "What are we toasting?" as he slid their shots to them on napkins.

"The Tasty," Sarah told him.

The bartender leaned against the bar and looked up.  "I haven`t thought about that place in years," he said.

"I didn`t know it was gone until today," she admitted.  "I haven`t been around for a long time."

"I guess not," he said.  He held up his soda to toast with Nick and Sarah.  "To The Tasty!" He announced.

"The Tasty," Nick and Sarah said in unison, and threw down their shots.

The spent the whole evening there, eating sandwiches and noshing on potato skins while they drank Boston beers and talked to the bartender, Ronnie. 

They walked for a while, down Mt. Auburn to Dewolf and to a footbridge across the Charles.  Sarah hopped up and sat on the thick concrete railing.  Nick joined her.

"It`s beautiful here," Nick said.

"Can you smell the smart people just up the street?" Sarah asked him.

Nick sniffed.  "A little bit," he said, smiling.

"Well," Sarah reminded him, "It IS summer."

"Mostly I smell something kinda funky," Nick told her, wrinkling his nose.

Sarah looked down.  "Yeah," she said.  "That would be the lovely Charles River.  I hear they`re cleaning it up, but I`ve heard super-gross stories about people who fell in."

"Spare me," Nick held his hand up between them.

"Of course," Sarah said, and then mumbled, "Sissy."

Nick nudged her. 

"Careful!" She shouted.  "You don`t want me to fall in any more than I do."

They walked back to the train station and went back to the hotel for the night.  Tomorrow was to be a great day for Sarah.

She woke up to the smell of coffee under her nose.  She smiled and opened her eyes, stretching.

"Happy Birthday, Gorgeous," Nick said and kissed her.

Sarah sat up and took the coffee from Nick.  He handed her a gift-wrapped box.  She smiled coyly, kissed him on the nose and then began tearing the paper away like a kid at Christmas.  She reached inside the box and pulled out her present.  It was an authentic Red Sox road jersey.  It had the number 31 on the front.  When she turned it around, there was the name "Lester".   Sarah had an unhealthy crush on Jon Lester, one of the Red Sox pitchers.

"Baby," Sarah cooed.  "I`ve never seen a jersey for him.  I didn`t think you could get one."

"I have my sources," Nick said.

"You`re the best," she told him.  "You love me enough to give me the jersey of the man I would leave you for."

"I`m cool like that," Nick told her.  "Now scoot and get ready.  I want to take you to…" he paused and looked at his watch.  "…get a very late breakfast.  Game is at 1:35, Birthday Girl."

"Can I wear my jersey?" She asked, jumping up and down on the bed and then landing on the floor in front of him.

"You`d better," Nick said.  "Jon would be disappointed if you didn`t."

He smacked her on the butt as she bounced to the bathroom for a shower.

Sarah emerged, twenty minutes later, wearing white shorts, a tank top, and her Lester Jersey, which was huge on her.  She twirled in it. 

"It`s like the size he would wear," she said, looking at herself in the mirror.

Nick grinned.

"Babe," Sarah said, "after we get coffee and a muffin, why don`t we check out engagement rings?"

"Work on your birthday?" Nick asked.

"It`s not like real work," Sarah said.  "Looking at diamond rings really doesn`t feel like a job."

"It`s up to you," Nick told her.  "It`s your day."

They went to Dunkin` Donuts, which had, they both agreed, the best-tasting coffee anywhere, AND the blueberry muffins were fantastic.  Then they took the T from Haymarket to Downtown Crossing and walked to a jewelry store that had looked interesting online.  Although they were dressed for a ballgame and not for expensive ring-shopping, EVERYONE in Boston was dressed for a ballgame, whether they were going or not.  Boston was good like that. 

They walked in to a very upscale shop very close to Boston`s diamond district.  They were greeted right away.

"Can I help you find anything?" asked a young man in black pants, a white button-down shirt and a tie with little tiny Red Sox logos all over it.

"We`re looking for an engagement ring, and I understand you`re the best in Boston for engagement rings," Nick said.  "I want to make sure my girl gets exactly what she wants."

The man held out his hand.  "I`m Paul.  Let`s see what we can find."  He turned to Sarah, asking, "Do you know what you`re looking for?"

"A solitaire, I think," Sarah said.  "Nothing too flashy.  But I like square cuts--Princess or Emerald, about one carat."

"I`m guessing you prefer white gold or platinum," Paul told her.

"How did you know?" Sarah asked him.

"You`re wearing all silver," Paul responded, and began picking rings out of a display case.

Picking up one of the rings and slipping it on, Sarah held her hand away, then up close.

"I understand you have lab-grown diamonds as well," she suddenly said.

"Cultured, yes," Paul said.  "Is that something that interests you?"

"Well, the topic does," Sarah told him.  "What can you show me?"

"Certainly," Paul said.  "We have a smaller selection of cultured diamonds, but there are plenty to choose from."  He walked over to another case and took out a few more rings.

"And this word `cultured`," Nick piped in, "That`s the same as lab-grown?"

"It IS the same process, yes," Paul explained.

"But," Nick went on, "It`s like the difference between calling a car `used` or `pre-owned`, right?"

"Well," Paul smiled.  "Without comparing our diamonds to used cars, yes."

"They`re all smaller," Sarah commented, looking at the rings with cultured diamonds.

"The process is still in its infancy," Paul explained.  "Right now, the highest carat-weight for one of our cultured diamonds is .25"

"I see," Sarah said.  She looked at it.  Then she plucked the jeweler`s loupe off of the counter and looked at it under magnification.  "They do make them nearly perfect," she remarked.

"Yes, they do," Paul told her.  "A lab is a much more controllable environment, obviously, than the center of the earth."

"And they`re worth less?" Nick asked.

"They cost less," Paul explained.  "Anywhere from 10-20% less.  The process is not inexpensive.  But, since they are made by humans, and are not naturally occurring, their perceived value is, indeed, less."

"Because it didn`t take millions of years," Nick said.

Sarah snorted.  "Not even millions of hours," she said.

They chatted for a few more minutes, Sarah returned the latest ring she had tried on, and they explained that they needed to get to Fenway.  The, naturally, said they would return.

Then they hopped again on the T to Kenmore Square and walked to Fenway from there.  It was a zoo.  The streets were packed, and vendors were selling everything from cotton candy to t-shirts to Red Sox baby onesies.  Nick stopped to get Sarah a giant foam rubber finger, and Sarah stopped to get fried dough.  By the time Nick fought his way through the crowd to her, she was deeply involved with her snack.  She held the paper plate out to him.  He laughed.

"You look like Alvy from `Annie Hall`," He told her.

She blushed a little.  "It`s that bad, huh?" She asked him.

Nick took one of the napkins from her and began wiping the powdered sugar off of her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and shook a bit out of her hair.  He kissed her on the nose.

"Mmmm, powdered sugary," he said.  Then, looking at his watch, he said, "We`d better get in there.  Your future husband is pitching today.  I know you`d hate to miss that from the field-level box seats on the third baseline that I scored for you."

"I might need to have two husbands," Sarah said, grinning from ear-to-ear.  "Because your awesomeness level just increased."

"Happy Birthday, Baby," Nick said.

She jumped into his arms, dropping her fried dough on the ground.  After a long hug, she hopped on his back for a piggy-back ride to the gate, waving her foam rubber finger the whole way."