Chapter Thirty-Two
Graham
I love the atmosphere in Fenway Park. In the world of Major League Baseball, it’s the oldest ballpark, having opened in 1912. There’s just nothing like it. From the Green Monster wall in left field, a favorite spot for players to measure home runs or grand slams and fun for the fans to sit on, the park is iconic in every way. As you move through the tunnels to get to your seat, you see the old wooden framework, bending a bit into a smile while holding the history of all the games ever played in Fenway Park. I try to catch Red Sox games whenever I can during the warmer months. Tonight, I’m just happy to be here with Lily, knowing she wants me near her. It doesn’t matter why we’re here as long as we’re together.
“Why do you think these workers are just so dang amusing?” She nods toward the men who walk up and down the stadium steps with boxes, coolers, and food warmers on their heads. I know they are full of pretzels, cotton candy, or hot dogs. Watching them work is riveting. I know I couldn’t even bench press what they probably lift. At the speed they fly along the rows, up and down on repeat, it’s a wonder their calves don’t burst through their pants. You can barely see their feet because they move so quickly.
“I need snacks!” Lily yells. She bolts from the seat, her purse swaying behind her as she hops up and runs down the aisle, trying to get someone’s attention. Calmly, I raise my hand to one of the men, who holds what appears to be caramel corn. I’m munching on the buttery sweet goodness when Lily returns, her eyes wide and hair a little disheveled.
“How did you . . .?” She points to the caramel corn, shrugs, and then steals a kernel before sitting down without a care in the world.
A question burns in my mind, and I feel like I’m going to burst with the anticipation. The only thing stopping me from blurting it out is the fact that I haven’t found a ring worthy of it. Nothing compares to the ring I lost on the beach that night, so I’ve held back, biding my time. I want to savor each moment we are dating, even though I’m ready to speed it along. I think I could run all the bases with the energy that’s pulsing through me right now.
I look over to see Lily holding out a Fenway Frank for me, the name for the iconic hot dogs served at the park (and, for some reason, they do taste better than any other hot dog). It’s covered in mustard and relish. She takes the biggest bite of a pretzel she bought for herself. It sticks up from the crook of her arm. The brilliance of the setting sun behind her casts a glow over her high ponytail, making her hair look like pure gold. She’s the angel of the ballpark, and I happened to witness it.
A grin plays on her face as she chews, one cheek stuck out in pure joy, a hint of mustard layered on her top lip. Clumsily, I reach for a napkin and start to hand it to her, but I quickly realize that, with her soda clutched in one hand and her pretzel in the other, she isn’t able to wipe her mouth.
“Help!” she squeaks, laughing at this turn of events. I lean forward, folding the napkin and patting the top of her lip ever so gently. The edges of my fingers graze the satin skin of her cheek. I can’t tear my eyes away from her lips, a cherry-red stain accentuating their Cupid’s bow.
Her eyes widen, no doubt from the intensity I know I’m serving at this moment, but I can’t help myself. For a moment, we’re back to the time before things went wrong. It’s just Lily and me out on the town, living life. My brain and body remember what it feels like to hold her without a care in the world. Vividly, I recall how it felt to kiss her perfect mouth and wait for her feistiness to make an appearance.
Even though we’ve rekindled our romance in Birch Borough, it hits me differently to know that we’re out and about in Boston, in public, and Lily is officially back to being my girl.
She swallows, watching me, her grey eyes deepening as the charcoal embers of twilight around us turn to dusk. I move closer, and at the expression on her face as she tilts it up to me, my knees almost give out. It’s a small gesture, but to know she’s remembering our moments together means more than I ever thought it would. With a sudden resolve, I decide now is the time for me to do what I came here to do.
“Lily, I—”
Crack . The sound of a bat hitting the ball and screaming toward the stands has us scrambling to avoid getting hit. A teenager with a hoodie starts pumping his fists in the air as the crowd screams and cheers for the home run. Lily raises the hand clutching her soda toward the sky and screams at the top of her lungs. I can’t help but laugh between cheers (we are in Boston after all). I beg my heart to remember this feeling forever.
That’s the only time I see a score. Soon after the home run scored by the Red Sox, Lily insists she needs soft serve ice cream served in a plastic baseball cap. Even though there’s a degree of chilliness in the evening air, it sounds amazing—until it isn’t.
We’ve scored five more runs, and I’ve missed all of them while waiting in line.
“You’ll have plenty of time,” Lily said. “Nothing exciting will happen while you’re gone.”
At this point, should I be anyone else, I would think it’s good luck for the Red Sox whenever I leave the stands to get some food.
I may have underestimated the courage I need not to propose we elope tonight. When I finally return to my seat, Lily digs into the chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream topped with chocolate jimmies (sprinkles to most people who aren’t from New England). I’m mesmerized.
If I hadn’t already gotten Rafe’s encouragement and blessing to ask Lily to marry me when I sent an SOS text to him earlier today, I would be a lot more nervous than I am. Thankfully, being the good friend he is, he didn’t mind my invasion of his honeymoon. I’ll owe him a case of French wine when he gets back.
The Red Sox are winning, the scoreboard lighting up the night sky as the dusk of a late-summer evening makes its full appearance. When we're in the eighth inning, everyone rises to their feet to join in singing the iconic “Sweet Caroline” blaring through the speakers.
Lily sways and joins the crowd as they chant, a tradition that seems to be something you can’t escape in the stadium. All at once, it’s like everyone gets the memo to give it their all, and no one minds a bit.
“Sweet Caroline . . . bum-bum-bum .”
I’m laughing as Lily is jamming to her own beat, as she often does, singing with such a sweet smile on her face that my knees are wobbly. Emotion creeps up the back of my throat.
This is what I’ve dreamed of since we met—Lily carefree beside me, happiness in her eyes, ponytail swaying, her smile wide. Her image starts to swim as I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. It took us a while to get here, but we made it. And I’m just so grateful I’ve gotten to live this story.
“ So good! So good! So good! ” the crowd inserts, per tradition, at just the right moments as the song continues.
The crowd is still cheering, yelling, and singing when I feel Lily’s hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me to stand beside her. Her skin is silky and smells a bit like the snacks she’s been consuming. She wipes a tear from one of my eyes, and my vision clears again.
“Graham,” she says, and then she kisses me. Softly and sweetly, she wraps her arms around my neck, pushing onto her toes to show me how much she’s glad to be with me, ice cream now abandoned. Out of everyone in the world, she’s picked me to be near her. I feel how much she’s missed me in that kiss.
Leaning back enough to study her face, I place a light kiss on the edge of her mouth then move to the other side. She takes a sharp breath, simultaneously melting into me. I laugh. I knew she would remember this scene from a certain movie we both love and draw the correlation.
“A place for fun and dreams,” she whispers in an echo of one of the best days of my life. And then Lily shocks me to my core by uttering the words I once never thought I’d hear. “Ask me, Graham.”
Looking down between us, I see it. Clasped in her hand is the ring box I thought was lost long ago.
“How did you—? When did you—?” I stare at her in disbelief and wonder.
She wipes the tears falling from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “After that night, I went back and searched for it in the sand. Hands-and-knees type of searching. It took me hours, but I found it. I . . . I just knew it had to be mine.”
“Lily . . .” The words in my throat are choked off as I decide I’m not going to finish that little segway of affection until later.
Her eyes sparkle, peering into my own. I’m struck as the light from the stadium creates a kaleidoscope of lavender and grey tones, mixing with the emotions swirling through her eyes.
Without a second thought—without waiting to see if she’ll run from our love this time—I switch places with her so that I’m standing in the little concrete aisle. I drop to one knee. I don’t need to question if this is the right moment. Her eyes widen, and her expression is a memory I’ll cling to for the rest of my life. Instead of fear or heartache in her eyes, I only see hope.
“I could tell you how much you mean to me. I’m not sure you’d believe me,” I begin, and she lets out a choked laugh, emotion pouring out from the edges of her eyes.
“You’d probably argue with me about it,” I continue, encouraged by the disbelieving smile she’s giving me as she bites the bottom of her lip, “and you’ll definitely need to cease doing that with your lip if you want me to finish what I started here.”
I’m still reeling from the fact that the ring I thought was lost forever—the ring I could never find the perfect replacement for—is now back in my hands. She’s back in my hands.
The people next to us seem to catch onto what’s happening. Cheers from people who’ve had too much to drink and those who love a good grand gesture ripple through our section. I register the flash of lights, no doubt because this moment is being recorded. Leave it to us to become a meme or go viral.
I look up at Lily as the breeze plays with the end of her ponytail. Suddenly, I can’t continue. That darn ponytail undoes me every time. For all that we’ve done, for all that we’ve been through, the emotion is too much. The thought of my love for her is all-consuming. And I realize that if everything in our past is what brought us to this moment—the moment in which I’m vaguely questioning if it’s mustard or ice cream that I’ve stuck my knee into on the concrete floor—then I’d do it a million times over.
“Lily, I—” I manage to get out. Instead of laughing or teasing, Lily does the most surprising thing by kneeling in front of me. We’re wedged between the seats, my feet still sticking into the aisle.
“You truly have the ring?” I ask. The fact that she’s holding it out to me instead of running from it sends fireworks of hope shooting through my heart.
She shakes her head. “You didn’t lose it after all. You didn’t lose me after all.”
“You’ve had it all this time?”
If she thinks I’m upset that she held on to it, she doesn’t realize how I’ve often felt like it was only lost because it wasn’t on her finger. That ring has always been meant to be her own.
She hands me the small box, and I open it slowly, lifting it above the seats where a stream of light catches it. Lily extends one hand cautiously, pulling it back, then reaching for it again. I give her a nod to encourage her.
Instead of squealing or yelling as I’m so accustomed to her doing, Lily slides the ring onto her left ring finger. She clutches it, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that the only way it will leave her hand is if someone pries it from her. Softly, she moves her fingers over the top of my forehead, the effect sending a shiver through me. She traces my face, her eyes shining with reflected light. As her hands rest on the sides of my jawline, a look of determination that I’ve rarely seen etches itself within her features.
“Marry me,” she whispers.
Her eyes search mine, exposing all my adoration for her. I pull her toward me, my neck nestling in the curve of her own. I nuzzle in, catching the scent of her as I feel her arms wrap around me. Her touch unleashes something in me, and I start to cry. Relief washes over me that I didn’t just win her heart back. I won mine back in the process too.
“Beat you to it,” she laughs.
A chuckle escapes me along with the sob. I’m a grown man crying at a ballpark, but I couldn’t care less .
The announcer sounds like an otherworldly narrator in a dream that I’ve had a thousand times. The only way I know it’s real is because, this time, I feel Lily’s pulse under my fingers. Her cool hands run over the jersey on my back, and the warmth of her breath hovers above my ear.
Leaning back to catch her gaze, I cradle her face between my hands. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again . . . you will always be my first choice. No one ever has or ever will come close to you.” I say the words with as much power as I can, my voice catching. “I will never stop fighting for you. Are you with me, honey?”
Her response is a kiss that sears me to my core. Before we can take it too far, people around us cheer. Suddenly, we’re laughing, shouts erupting throughout the stadium. When we rise to our feet, Lily wipes her face, and I wipe mine, and we stare at the lavender stone nestled between the glittering diamonds on the vintage ring together. With wide grins, we peek at the scoreboard to see what all the fuss has been about in the stadium and see it: a grand slam.