25. The Proposal #2
“Just yourself. And maybe a cake. Something with lemon?”
She laughs, a round, living sound. “You got it. I can’t wait to see you.”
I hang up and start the coffee machine again, more out of habit than need. My hands are steady, but my brain is a fever swamp of what-if and how-will-this-look and what-if-we-ruin-everything.
At ten on the dot, the security camera in the front hall pings to life. I hear the code punched in, the mechanical whir of the locks disengaging. Then Thomas’s voice, echoing from the entryway: “Hunter?”
Hunter is already at the door, opening it wide. He looks like a devil’s idea of a country-club president—black jeans, black turtleneck, bare feet. He says nothing, just points toward the front sitting room.
The three of us assemble: me, cross-legged on the navy velvet sofa; Lachlan beside me, in his least priestly shirt (black, sleeves rolled to the elbows, nothing at the neck except a silver chain); Hunter in his usual pose—hands behind his back, looming in the window.
Thomas takes the leather armchair by the fire, the only chair in the house that makes him look small.
For a long, almost devotional silence, no one moves. I keep my hands in my lap, the rings digging into my thigh.
Thomas’s eyes are cold and sharp. He looks at Hunter, then at me, then at Lachlan. His jaw tics, but otherwise he’s unreadable.
I start: “Dad, this isn’t a joke. It’s not a phase. I love them both, as you know, and well …we want to have a commitment ceremony. Next week.”
Hunter doesn’t turn from the window, but his voice cuts the room: “We’re adults. Nobody’s being coerced. It’s real.”
Lachlan’s thigh is a warm line against mine. He says nothing, but I feel his pulse in the muscle of his forearm.
Thomas folds his hands in his lap. “I’m not going to pretend I saw this coming,” he says. His voice is soft, but the room seems to vibrate with it. “The three of you fucking each other’s brains out while behaving like sex-crazed fiends, yes. But commitment? No. Romance? No.”
I nod, chin trembling.
“Yeah, a lot of people think polyamorists are people who just want to have no-strings sex. But we’re more than that. We’re in love.”
Thomas’s blue eyes are flashing.
“And you’re happy?”
I nod, once. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”
He looks at me for a long, hard second. Then he sighs, a sound like the wind coming off a lake in winter. “Then I’ll be there.”
He stands, a little slower than before. “But you need to know—this is going to change things. For all of us. People are going to talk.”
Hunter grins, a white flash in the dark. “Let them talk.”
Thomas gives him a look that says a thousand things, none of them printable. Then he looks at me, and for the briefest moment, I see the little-girl version of myself reflected in his eyes. It hurts, a little, but it’s real.
“Anything else?” he asks, already halfway to the door.
“Bring Andie,” I say.
He pauses, then nods. “She wouldn’t miss it.”
After he’s gone, Hunter comes over and kneels in front of me, hands on my knees. “You did good, star girl.”
Lachlan squeezes my hand. “Your dad’s tougher than most. He’ll be fine.”
I want to believe them. I do.
The next call is to my mom. This one I put off for three hours, pacing the upstairs hallway in bare feet, phone in hand.
Brenda knows that I’ve been seeing Hunter and Lachlan, and was curiously accepting.
“You’re old enough to make your own decisions,” she said when I told her.
“Although I have to say I never expected you to be dating your two step-uncles. That’s one that blew past me, even.
” But Brenda was okay with it, more or less.
So when I finally dial, she answers from her home office in Wyoming, her voice loose and bright.
“Stella! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I try to speak, but it’s like my throat has been coated in sand.
“Stella?” she says. “Is something wrong? Are you safe?”
I laugh, and it comes out as a croak. “I’m safe. It’s just—complicated.”
She waits. Brenda is good at waiting.
“I need you to come to Minneapolis next week. It’s a…family thing. For me.”
Another long, silent gap.
“Is this about the church?” she asks, voice a little too careful.
“No,” I say. “It’s about me, and Hunter, and Lachlan.”
The silence this time is longer. I start talking to fill it. “You don’t have to approve, or even understand, but I want you to be there. You’re my mom. You should be at my wedding, or commitment ceremony, more accurately.”
When she finally speaks, her voice is different—lower, more centered. “You’ve always done things your own way, Stella. I guess it’s genetic, seeing that your father has always been that way too.”
She takes a breath. “I’ll be there. Even if I have to ride a Greyhound all the way. You’re my girl.”
I hang up, and the tears come, fast and hot, but they don’t last. By the time I get back to the kitchen, I feel like a human again.
The last call is to myself. I look in the mirrored backsplash behind the stovetop, at my hair, my makeup, my exhausted eyes, and say: “You’re not broken, star girl. You’re not bad. You’re just in love.”
Hunter appears behind me, looping his arms around my waist. His hands are warm, callused, fingers laced over my belly. He kisses the spot behind my ear, and I shiver.
“You ready for this?” he murmurs.
Lachlan enters, holding a mug of coffee, and sets it down in front of me. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he says, then grins, “unless you’re worried about my cooking for the party.”
I laugh, loud and real. “God help us all if you’re in charge of the menu.”
The two of them stand behind me, a wall of muscle and promise. I look at the rings on the bar and slide two onto my fingers, feeling the rightness of each band as it finds its place.
“Do you want us to help you insert the last one?” Hunter whispers in my ear.
“We’re more than happy to do the honors,” Lachlan murmurs on my other side.
Immediately, my heart begins to race from the promise in their voices, and I think about my dad’s words, about what it means to change everything.
I think about the party to come, the faces that will watch us, the mouths that will whisper.
But mostly, I think about the two of them—my men, my anchors, the only thing in the world that makes sense anymore.
The three of us together, in a kitchen filled with sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee.
If this is what a happy family looks like, I want it forever.
Let the world burn.
Let them talk.
Let them see.