16. Xavier
Two Years Later: Valentine’s Day
“ T here’s no one here,” Grayson whispers to me as we climb the steps of the theater to claim spots on our favorite row. Like our first time at The Reel together, she’s carrying the drinks, and I have the popcorn and the pleasure of watching her ass bounce in the leggings she always wears to our mid-week, early afternoon movie dates.
“Well, it is a weekday, Hart.”
“I know, but it’s Valentine’s Day,” she glances at me from over her shoulder, eyes stretched for emphasis. “Even if it is a weekday, you can’t tell me it’s not odd that no one is here.”
Personally, I don’t find it odd at all, mainly because I paid a handsome fee for us to have the theater to ourselves to celebrate the day and place where we had what I consider our first date. The date on the calendar had escaped my notice on that day two years ago, but I can’t lie and say I would have done anything differently if I had known that I was spending private, personal time with a client on a day globally recognized for its romantic themes.
As a matter of fact, I know I wouldn’t have. Grayson and I would have still shared laughs and popcorn and the meal I didn’t eat. And we still would have wound up here, happy, in love, and hopefully, once it’s all said and done, engaged. A nervous thrill runs through me, causing my stomach to clench as we settle into our seats and the lights begin to go down.
“Damn, that was fast,” Grayson says, digging into her popcorn and doing a little happy dance as the first hit of the cinnamon and sugar combination she’s addicted to hits her tongue. “They really said sit your ass down and watch this movie.”
I try to laugh at her silly statement. Really, I do. But I can’t because my heart is beating so damn fast and loud it’s all I can do to stay in my seat and keep the question I’ve wanted to ask her for so long locked between my lips.
“You okay, babe?” Concern etches itself into Grayson’s features as she conducts a visual examination. “You’re not still feeling sick, are you? I told you we didn’t have to come to the movies today. I was fine with waiting until this weekend to do something.”
The sick she’s referring to is the anxiety that’s had me fighting mild panic attacks I’ve had to pass off as a stomach bug or virus of some kind. For days now, she’s been hyper aware of every shift in my mood or expressions, which would be nice any other time, but it’s hard to talk yourself through nerves about proposing to your girlfriend when she’s always around, force feeding you ginger ale and chicken noodle soup your mother made even though she, and everyone else in your respective families, knows you’re not sick, you’re just scared shitless.
“No, I’m fine, baby.” In order to sell the story, I reach for her left hand and bring her knuckles to my mouth, laying kisses on her skin. “Let’s just enjoy the movie.”
Unbeknownst to Grayson, the movie in question is a short film that I made with Amina’s help. All the actors are people we know personally. All the lines are words I’ve already said to her face at some point in the time we’ve known each other.
When I pitched the idea to everyone, promising it would take minimal time and effort from them, they all agreed eagerly. Of course, both of our mothers tried to talk me into doing something a little more public, hoping they’d be able to play a bigger role in the day. I shut that down immediately, though, because I have firsthand knowledge of just how many public proposals end in bitter divorces.
Plus, I wanted to be sure that Grayson didn’t feel pressured to give me her yes. She’s been so much better about speaking up for herself, advocating for what she wants and needs from me, but I would never want to spend my life wondering if the presence of our loved ones influenced her choice to become my wife.
My high quality, but still homemade, film begins to play, and Grayson gasps when she sees her mother’s face on the screen. Lottie is sitting beside Ma, both of them giddy as they clutch the paper with their lines on it.
“What in the world?” Grayson murmurs under her breath, loud enough for me to hear, but low enough not to compromise the audio booming around us.
“Grayson,” our mother’s say in unison. “Xavier wants you to know you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”
“Xavier, what is this?” she asks, eyes still on the screen where her aunts and cousins are.
“Grayson,” Kendra, Chantel and A’ja say together. Their voices a quiet boom filled with love. “Xavier wants you to know you’re the strongest woman he’s ever known,” Aunt Nita and Marcel add, before disappearing from the screen.
There are tears shining in her eyes, and she’s so enthralled with the people on the screen and the things they’re saying, she doesn’t notice when I drop her left hand and slide out of my seat, dropping down to one knee on the ground in front of her while Orion, Lincoln, Chase and Crew tell her I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone.
I pull the ring box out of the pocket of my sweats, popping it open just as my own disembodied voice fills the room.
“Grayson,” I say on the video. “I have one question for you?—”
The video stops there, and her head swings over in my direction. When she finds me down on one knee, a sob falls from her lips.
“Oh, my God.”
“Will you marry me?” I ask, hand shaking, voice cracking like I’ve never asked a life-changing question before. “I know you’ve done the marriage thing before, and I get why you wouldn’t want to do it again, but I just wanted to know if maybe you had it in you to try again, to try with me? I promise I will love you and protect you and uplift you. I promise that I’ll support your dreams and champion your work. I’ll give you babies if you want them or a cute dog or two if you don’t. I’ll rub your feet and run your baths and wash all the dishes that won’t fit in the dishwasher. I’ll take care of you, Hart, for the rest of our lives. And I promise I’ll do that even if you don’t take this ring from me today because the legality is all just icing on top of a cake I gorge myself on every day.” I stop, taking a moment to gather myself, to breathe. “You can say no, and nothing between us will change, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t ask if you want me to be your husband, if, maybe, you want to be my wife?”
Grayson slides to the edge of her seat, her fingers shaking as they grab hold of both sides of my face. She bites her lip, tears rolling down both cheeks. “As far as closing arguments go, this is probably your sloppiest work,” she teases, pulling a nervous laugh out of me. “But,” she continues, “you get bonus points for an emotional delivery and the beautiful ring.”
“Hart,” I plead because I can’t go another second without knowing her answer, and I’m pretty sure there’s a popcorn kernel under my knee. “ Please, answer the question. ”
“Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes, Xavier, I want you to be my husband. Yes, I want to be your wife. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
THE END