35. Luisa
— ? —
Luisa
The day felt off from the start.
I’d noticed it the moment I arrived at the festival, the way people kept glancing at me, then quickly looking away. The way conversations seemed to pause when I walked past. And everyone being aggressively, suspiciously normal.
“Why is everyone being weird?” I asked Birdie.
She didn’t look up from the chowder she was stirring. “Small towns, hon.”
“You’re dodging.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting. Now, you’re doing the self-defense demo at noon, right? Lots of folks excited about it.”
I frowned. I didn’t usually teach self-defense, that had been a festival thing, a one-time offer when someone had asked if I could do a demonstration instead of my usual dance class. But the turnout had been surprisingly enthusiastic.
“Did you do something?” I asked.
“I make chowder, honey. That’s what I do.”
I gave up and wandered through the festival, trying to shake the feeling that everyone was in on a joke except me.
The green was packed, more crowded than I’d ever seen it, with what looked like half the county in attendance.
Families with kids, elderly couples, teenagers eating fried dough, fishermen who’d taken the day off.
And all of them kept looking at me.
“Mom!” Poppy came running up, her face painted with a rainbow and her hands full of cotton candy. Behind her, the grandmothers were clustered together, trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly.
“Hey, baby. Are you having fun?”
“The best fun! Grandma Agnes said there’s going to be a surprise later.”
My eyes narrowed. “What kind of surprise?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Poppy-”
“I MADE A PROMISE, MOMMY.”
She ran off before I could interrogate her further.
The grandmothers dispersed in four different directions the moment I looked their way.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Something is definitely happening.”
***
The demonstration was set up on the main green.
A large mat had been laid out, professional quality, like the mats you’d find in an actual dojo, surrounded by hay bales for seating. As I approached, I realized the hay bales were already full. People were standing three deep around the edges.
“Big turnout,” I said to Gus, who was manning the hardware booth nearby.
He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Allergies.”
“It’s September.”
“Fall allergies.”
Before I could push further, someone handed me a microphone.
“Uh, okay.” I stepped onto the mat, suddenly aware of several hundred pairs of eyes on me. “Hi, everyone. I’m Luisa, and I’m going to demonstrate some basic self-defense techniques today. I’ll need a volunteer to-”
“I’ll do it.”
Wade stepped out of the crowd.
He was wearing a gi jacket over his regular clothes, crisp white against his dark jeans. His face was perfectly neutral, but his eyes were bright with barely suppressed excitement.
The crowd went silent.
Not polite-attention silent. Dead silent. The kind of silence that happens when an entire town is holding its collective breath.
“Wade,” I said carefully. “You want to be my demonstration dummy?”
“I’m told I’m very dummylike.”
A few scattered laughs from the audience, quickly suppressed.
“Okay.” I set down the microphone, moved to the center of the mat. “Come here, then.”
He approached. Stood facing me. We were close, near enough that I could see the rapid pulse in his throat.
“The first thing to remember,” I said, raising my voice so the crowd could hear, “is that self-defense is about using your opponent’s momentum against them. You don’t have to be bigger or stronger. You just have to be smarter.”
Wade nodded seriously, like he was taking notes.
“For this first technique, I’m going to demonstrate a basic hip throw. Wade, grab my wrists.”
He did.
His hands were warm. Steady. His eyes never left my face.
“Now, I’m going to turn into him,” I narrated, “using his grip as a pivot point. Then I’ll load him onto my hip and-”
I threw him.
It was a clean throw, perfect form, textbook execution, and Wade hit the mat with a solid thump. The crowd cheered.
But he didn’t get up.
“Wade?” I looked down at him. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at me with a strange, waiting stillness.
“Luisa,” he said.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” He reached into his gi jacket. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
His hand came out holding a small box.
The crowd inhaled as one.
“Oh my God.” The words came out strangled. “Wade, what are you-”
He opened the box.
Inside was a ring. No diamond, no flash, just a simple silver band holding a piece of sea glass, soft green and glowing in the afternoon light. Glass tumbled smooth by years in the ocean.
“You put me on the ground the day we met,” he said, still lying flat on his back, holding the ring up to me. “And I’ve been falling ever since.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Marry me again, Luisa.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Show me again, every day, for the rest of my life. Show me how to be the man you deserve. Show me how to be the father Poppy needs. Show me how to love you the way you should be loved.”
Show me again.
The words from that first day on the Nantucket cobblestones, when he’d looked at me with wonder and asked me to demonstrate the throw that had put him on the ground. Words I’d heard in my dreams for twelve years.
The crowd was absolutely silent. I could hear the waves in the harbor, the distant cry of seagulls, my own heartbeat loud enough to shake my whole body.
Wade lay there on the mat, holding up a ring made of sea glass and hope, waiting for my answer.
I made him wait.
One long breath. Then another.
His expression started to flicker, just slightly, just a shadow of doubt crossing his face.
“Get up here,” I said.
He was on his feet in an instant.
“Is that a yes?”
I grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss.
The crowd exploded.
I heard cheering, applause, someone sobbing loudly, what sounded like several air horns going off at once. But it all faded into background noise because Wade was kissing me back, his arms wrapping around me, lifting me off the ground as the ring box pressed against my back.
“Yes,” I said against his mouth. “Yes, you ridiculous man. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Thank God.” He was laughing and crying at the same time, his face wet, his smile so wide it looked painful. “I was going to lie on that mat until you said yes. I had Gus bring snacks.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m in love. Same thing.”
Behind us, Agnes swooned dramatically into Gus’s arms.
“I’VE BEEN CRYING FOR AN HOUR,” Gus bellowed, not even attempting to deny it anymore. “THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I’VE EVER SEEN.”
The grandmothers swarmed us, hugging, crying, all talking at once.
Birdie appeared with champagne from somewhere.
Sheriff Pruitt was wiping his eyes with his uniform sleeve.
The entire town seemed to be pressing in around us, celebrating, welcoming Wade into the community he’d fought so hard to earn.
And then-
“Excuse me.”
A small voice. Amplified.
The crowd parted.
Poppy stood at the edge of the mat, the demonstration microphone in her hand, her rainbow face paint slightly smeared from the chaos. She looked at me. Then at Wade. Then back at me.
“DOES THIS MEAN I GET THE BUNK BED?”