Two #2
Milo is first out of her grasp, a blur of overalls and energy.
He beelines straight for the cupcake display, but Luca intercepts him just before he can mount a full assault.
Instead, Milo is handed a tiny espresso cup filled with milk and a single pink straw.
This buys only about eleven seconds of peace.
Milo is the definition of hell on wheels about ninety-five percent of the time.
Maisie stays in Elsie’s arms, her small fingers fisting the shoulder of Elsie’s cardigan with her gaze sweeping the room with a sort of solemn gravity. She clocks every change in the room. I would pay real money to know what she’s thinking.
Elsie’s eyes land on me, and I try to look busy, laptop open, coffee in hand, glasses perched as if I might be mid-edit on the next big deadline.
I hope the lighting is doing me some favours, because I slept maybe three hours last night and am still wearing the same jeans from yesterday.
I resist the urge to check my phone. Instead, I give her a small, closed-mouth smile: all is well, nothing to see here, just a normal morning.
This seems to be enough to distract her and we spend the next few hours distracting her and waiting for Noah to build up enough courage to ask her until Maisie blows it. She decides to whisper “secret” into Elsie’s ear, her toddler brain obviously not understanding her faux pas.
Elsie’s posture changes. She does a quick pan of the café, the corners of her mouth curling upward in a way that is both resigned and amused, and then her eyes lock onto Noah. He’s behind the counter, but he steps out from behind it with both hands wiped clean on a dish towel.
I hesitated, then finally turned my phone back on. Whatever messages were waiting could wait another few minutes. They deserved to have this moment remembered.
I raise my phone and hit record. Luca made me swear, hand over heart, that I would “capture every second for the record.” He said it with both hands on my shoulders and the most earnest eyes I have ever seen on a living person, so I can’t not.
Luca gives the signal, and Liv cues up the playlist. The first song is by some obscure indie band, and the volume is just loud enough to cover the shuffling of feet and the stifled giggles.
Liv, who has never met a dramatic moment she can’t mock, leans over and whispers to me, “Odds on Elsie crying before he even kneels?”
I smirk. “Ten bucks says she holds it together until after the ring is out, then full meltdown.”
“Done.” Liv holds out a pinkie, and I pinkie-promise because there are few things that are more binding.
Noah approaches Elsie, who is now standing, twins flanking her like lopsided bodyguards.
The rehearsed speech he probably played in his head a hundred times seems to evaporate instantly.
He stands in front of her, searching for words, and when he speaks, his voice is nothing like the steady monotone he was using to practice earlier.
He says, “I had a speech,”
Elsie snorts, and I can’t help but echo the sentiment.
He continues, “I wrote it down. Practiced it in the mirror. Made Luca listen to it seven times. It was… it was good. Really good. About how I never expected any of this.” He gestures at the twins, both of whom are now completely feral, Milo trying to mash a cupcake into the floor and Maisie who thankfully seems to be calming until I notice that Clara, of all people, is pulling increasingly more concerning faces to keep her from approaching full meltdown.
He kneels, one knee to the wood floor, and for a second the entire café actually does go silent. Even the playlist seems to sense the cue and drops to a softer volume.
Noah’s seems to be shaking a little, but he pushes on.
“Not the café. Not the chaos. Not the twins. Not you. I had this whole plan. This whole life. And then somewhere between a door I held open and a baby who stopped screaming because I pulled a face, I stopped being someone who was passing through and became someone who wanted to stay.”
Maisie places her palm on Noah’s face, and I know my eyes aren’t the only ones wet in this room. “I know you don’t owe me forever because someone else hurt you, I know that’s not how this works. I just… I just really hope I get to spend mine with you.”
Milo, who has been suspiciously calm for the last few seconds, produces a tiny white box from somewhere in his person and offers it upward. Noah takes the box, opens it, and reveals a ring, not big or flashy, but exactly the kind of thing that Elsie would love.
Maisie starts clapping, completely off-beat but absolutely certain that its her expected response. She yells, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” long before Elsie even processes the question.
Elsie covers her face with one hand and tries to compose herself, but her laugh comes out anyway, happy and wet, and she just nods and nods until she can say, “Yes. Yes, of course. God, yes.”
The room erupts. Liv loses the bet in spectacular fashion, biting her knuckle to keep from tearing up.
Luca cries openly, not even bothering to pretend otherwise, just lets it happen, one hand pressed against his chest. Clara, always the consummate professional, pops the champagne she’s had chilling under the counter since nine that morning and pours out glasses for everyone.
I keep filming through the whole thing. My hands are steady, but there’s a burn behind my eyes that won’t go away.
I am happy for Elsie in a way that requires zero effort; the happiness blooms out from my ribs, filling up the hollow spaces I didn’t know were there.
But underneath it, there’s something else, a low ache, a heat that has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the way you can want something for a friend so badly you forget, for a second, that it’s not also happening to you.
The crowd closes around Elsie and Noah, hugs and laughter and a confetti storm of white petals as Leo and Milo immediately find a way to weaponize the flower arrangements.
I catch a snippet of Luca’s voice, breathless and half-laughing: “You are never allowed to move away. We have joint custody of you forever now, even if you run.”
Liv slides up beside me and bumps my elbow. “You’re leaking,” she says quietly.
I touch under my eye and realize there’s a streak of mascara on my cheekbone. “Shut up,” I say, but it comes out soft.
She gives a small, conspiratorial smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Honestly, yeah.”
And I am. For the first time all day, I don’t want to disappear into a corner or find a bathroom stall to hyperventilate in.
I want to be here, in the thick of this, even if it hurts a little.
I keep filming, the phone a shield and a conduit all at once, and let myself smile without managing the expression, without trying to pre-empt the next disaster.
Noah slides the ring onto Elsie’s finger, which is still trembling, and she pulls him into a kiss that is, for a public moment, surprisingly private. Milo, sensing his cue, starts banging a cupcake tin against the floor in celebration. Maisie claps even harder, rhythm nowhere to be found.