Chapter 4 #2
But Clay needs a sense of security. And I don’t know how to give him that. Until, suddenly, I do. An imaginary lightbulb goes on over my head—yeah, just like those ones you always see in old cartoons—and I’m hit with the perfect solution.
“I mean, you’re not wrong about this place,” Clay says, turning his back to me as he glances around.
“It’s got a great layout. I like the appliances and all the finishes they’ve chosen.
It’s a good neighborhood. The house itself feels solid.
I like all the trees out front. And yes, the lights are nice.
Also, I know how much you’ve missed having a yard.
” He gestures at the darkened windows and the night beyond.
“I mean, I assume there’s one out there somewhere. Don’t you think?”
“Sure to be,” I agree, only partially listening as I dig frantically in my handbag for the Christmas present I’d just picked up—the stroke of genius that’ll make this whole thing work. “These are big lots, too, so it’s probably a good sized one.”
By the time Clay turns back around, I’ve gone down on my knees. I’ve snatched the hat from my head and am holding it, clasped in front of me.
Clay’s eyes widen in alarm, his expression almost comical. “Legs? What’s going on? Why are you down there?”
“Why do you think I’m on my knees?” I tease in response, feeling unaccountably nervous. “What do people generally get on their knees for, Clay?”
“Okay, is this is some new bargaining strategy you’re trying out? You know I’m on board. I love the idea. But maybe we should wait until we get home. You know?”
“No. I don’t want to wait. I want to do this right here and now.”
“Here? In the kitchen? Why?”
“Why not? What’s wrong with kitchens? They’re the heart of the house, isn’t that what they say?”
“I have no idea. But look—” He waves towards the windows at the back of the house. “There are no window coverings in here, right?”
“So? That’s good, isn’t it? It means that when we buy the house, we can pick out our own.”
“Yeah, sure. Great idea. Let’s definitely do that.
But I what mean is…well, we’re also not the only ones who might decide to access that app tonight.
” This time he gestures toward the front of the house.
“There were still a lot of people walking around looking at lights when we came in here. Any one of them might be looking to buy a house, too.”
“I know.” I nod in agreement. “That’s why I think we should put in an offer right away. I didn’t think you were ready for that?”
“I’m not! I mean… No, that’s not it either. It’s more that we can’t count on being alone. In fact, now that I think of it, there are probably surveillance cameras set up all over the house. Someone could be watching us right now.”
“Well, that seems a little paranoid, but who cares? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s it got to do with anything’? It’s got everything to do with it!”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not kids anymore! I know that kind of thing sounds like fun. And once upon a time, I’d be right there with you. But now we’re old enough to know better. We shouldn’t be doing this here, that’s why.”
As we continue to frown uncomprehendingly at each other, a new thought occurs to me. “Wait. Hold on a minute. You never answered my question. Why do you think I’m on my knees?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Well, I thought so, but apparently not.” He gives me a look. I clock the suggestive tilt of his eyebrows, the involuntary glance downward, towards his crotch, and dissolve into giggles. “Omigod, Clay; no! Not that.”
Forget tradition, I instruct myself as I get back on my feet; that’s never been who we are. Although, actually, as Clay himself pointed out, his idea was way closer to who we are—or who we were—than mine ever was. No wonder he got confused.
I step closer, erasing the distance between us, my heart racing in anticipation. “Okay look, it’s time for a reality check. I wasn’t offering to blow you. Not that it’s off the table for later, but I agree that this isn’t the place.”
“Okay. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. But, good. So, what’s going on then?”
“I have a different kind of proposition for you. Here.” I thrust my Santa hat at him. “Look inside.”
He’s eyeing me curiously as he reaches in and removes the jewelry box.
“It was supposed to be a Christmas present,” I explain. “It’s your birth stone, see? D’you like it?”
Clay’s eyes widen. He stares at the gold and sapphire ring, swallows hard and then says, “I do. It’s beautiful. Did you just pick this up tonight?”
I nod. “While you were waiting for the wrapping to be done.”
“Ah-hah. I thought you were gone a long time just to get drinks.”
“Exactly; that’s why. And, like I said, it was supposed to be for Christmas, but I’ve thought of a better purpose for it.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Will you marry me?”
Clay’s mouth drops open. “W-w-will I what?”
“Marry me,” I repeat, hoping he’ll put the ring on, disappointed when he doesn’t. And then, because his lack of reaction is making me nervous, I start quoting movies. “Because ‘when you propose marriage, you should offer a ring of engagement.’ You know, so that we’ll have good luck?”
“Legs…”
“Just answer the question, Clay. A simple yes or no will do.”
“Yes! But…are you sure? Is this really what you want?”
“Of course, it is. Why else would I ask?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s another spur of the moment thing. An impulse, because you found a house you want to buy, and you already had the ring on you, and…”
“Oh. Ouch.” It’s reasonable, I suppose. In fact, it’s uncomfortably close to the truth. And given my history? It’s also super painful. “Not everything is an impulse, Clay.”
“I know that, but…”
“I thought we were on the same page with this. I thought this was where we were eventually heading, anyway?”
“It is! We are!”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” I shake my head as I grab the box out of his hand and try to shove it back into my bag—an easy task made difficult by the sudden blurring of my vision, and then impossible when my bracelet gets caught on the bag’s hardware.
In the end, I just give up and fold my fingers around the box.
“Don’t cry,” Clay murmurs softly, using his thumbs to wipe away my tears.
“Please. How’s that gonna look? Years from now, when our kids ask how we decided to marry, you think I want to have to tell them, ‘your mom proposed, and I made her cry’?
They’ll hate me for life if I say something like that. ”
“Good,” I tell him—still mad, even as he gently untangles my bracelet to set me free. “I hope they do. It’ll serve you right.” Then my brain finishes processing what he just said. “Wait. You want kids? Plural? How many?”
“I don’t know.” He rolls his eyes and grins at me sheepishly. “It was just an idea. We don’t have to decide that tonight, too, do we?”
“No, of course not,” I snap back, angrily. “We don’t have to decide anything. Forget I even asked. In fact, I rescind my offer.”
“Allegra,” he chides as he slides an arm around my waist. “You can’t do that. I already said yes, didn’t I?”
“Did you? I must have missed it.”
“I guess you did. You said, ‘yes or no will do,’ and I said—”
“Well, too bad. I’ve had another impulse. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to ask you to marry me.”
“Okay, fine. Then I’ll ask you.”
“Hmph.” I scoff angrily. “Some proposal that would be. You don’t even have a ring.”
“Sure, I do.” Using his free hand, he pries the box from my grasp. “See? It’s right here. And yes, I know it’s a man’s ring, and it would only be temporary, but you can’t say there isn’t precedence.” Then his expression turns serious and he starts to sink to his knees…
“Oh, no you don’t!” I say, as I snatch the box back out of his hand—yes, again—and tug at his shoulder. “Stand up. There’s no way I’m letting you hijack my proposal.”
“Well, you’d better ask again, then,” he says. “And make it fast. Because one way or another, we’re not leaving here until we’re engaged.”
I study his expression, still uncertain. “D’you mean it? You’re really serious?”
“As a 10-33.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just ask, already.”
I take a deep breath. “Clay Romero, even though I’m having trouble remembering exactly why right now, I do love you. Will you marry me?”
“I love you, too, Allegra Francesca Catarina Viviana Martinelli. And ditto. But, yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll be your husband.”
Then he (finally!) slips the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly and looks amazing. We stare at it for a long, disbelieving moment, then grin at each other. “We’re getting married,” I say still wrapping my brain around the concept.
“We certainly are,” he replies as he pulls me into his arms.
And then we’re kissing—a long, deep, passionate kiss that threatens to drive all thoughts of security cameras, or house-hunters, or window treatments right out of our heads.
We’re both breathing hard when Clay finally wrenches away, gasping for breath. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs in dazed tones. “It’s getting late and we still have a house to buy.”
“Yes, we do,” I say as I hug him tight. “Our very own home for the holidays.”
“For the holidays and beyond,” he agrees.
And even though we both know better than to jinx everything by promising ‘forever’ I know that’s what we’re both thinking. And that’s good enough for me.