Part 13 (1/2)
”Then stop bothering me. I'll be done soon.”
”Why is it taking you so long? What are you doing in there?”
”Euclidian geometry. GO AWAY.”
I'm antsy but figure that marriage proposals are better when not yelled through bathroom doors, so I loiter in the hallway for what feels like an eternity. Actually, it's only another two minutes. He soon emerges in a cloud of crisp cotton air freshener, holding this week's Crain's Chicago Business magazine. I practically leap on him.
”What is wrong with you?” he asks in exasperation.
”I need to talk to you. Come over here and sit with me,” I say, gesturing from the couch.
He blanches because no good conversation starts with those words. Never in recorded history has the dread I need to talk to you phrase been followed by something a man wants to hear like ”I think we should have a threesome with my hot friend” or ”I'm buying you a 1969 Camaro, and is black OK?” Fletch is understandably nervous.
I can practically see the cogs moving in his head as he scans his mental Rolodex for recent transgressions. Sometimes I worry I'm too hard on him. On the other hand, he says I'm worth the aggravation and he did consent to follow the Jen Commandments, so it's not like he wasn't warned.
The Jen Commandments One: I loathe cooking. Therefore anytime I am forced into meal preparation, expect it to be done as loudly, profanely, and grudgingly as possible. (Angry: It's what's for dinner.) Two: I hate holding anything heavier than my purse. If I have something in my hands, I will attempt to trick you into carrying it for me.
Three: I am not a great listener, although I might appear to be. Sure, I may be nodding and saying, ”Mmm hmm,” but usually I'm just trying to think of a way to steer the conversation back to being about me.
Four: It is always all about me.
Five: I complain. A lot. Be particularly cautious if I am hungry, hot, or tired. May G.o.d have mercy on your soul if I am all three.
Six: I am fas.h.i.+onably late for social obligations. The only exception is when I brunch with Melissa. You must chauffeur me to the restaurant and I will shriek at you the entire time for dawdling, also known as obeying traffic signals. If it means getting me there on time, you will be expected to drive on the sidewalk.
Seven: Speaking of friends, many of them are cuter or thinner than me. You are not allowed to notice this.
Eight: There will be occasions when you breathe too loudly for my liking. Ditto on chewing.
Nine: All men's socks look the same to me. If you care about wearing a matching set, please double-check them yourself before crossing your legs at a business meeting.
Ten: I enjoy rearranging furniture. You need to enjoy moving bookcases.
”Stop looking nervous. I promise this is good,” I say. Warily, he sits down while I lay out my proposal. In the same calm, convincing voice that I used to sell $10 million worth of goods and services back in the day, I highlight the pros and dispel the cons of the plan.81 The more I talk, the more he nods and verbalizes his agreement. Turns out that he's amenable to everything from Cadillac to Calphalon.
Although he concurs with each point, I sense reluctance.
”Fletch, make sure this is something you absolutely, positively, one hundred percent want. Don't say yes because I'm a good salesperson. Say yes because you think it's the right thing for us to do,” I plead.
”I do want to do this. You've nicely laid out all the business reasons that this is a good idea.” His voice is full of reticence.
”Honey, I know when you're holding something back. Say whatever's on your mind. If you're not ready for this, you have to be honest.”
”No, no, that's not it. Overall, I think a Vegas wedding is a great idea.”
”Fletch, I can hear the hesitation in your voice. What is it? Are you disappointed we aren't going to get married here in the city? Or is it the timing? I thought with my not working and so few prospects, this summer is the perfect opportunity to do it. But if you aren't sure, then we'll forget about it for now.” Fletch doesn't say anything. ”Or is it because of how I look? Dear G.o.d, tell me it's not because I've put on a few pounds.” A few pounds? Try almost twenty. I can't fit into half of my wardrobe anymore.
”Jen, you look fine. The thing is, I'm excited and I wish we'd have gotten married years ago.”
”So you don't think I'm too fat to be a bride?”
”Now you are being ridiculous.”
”Then what's the problem?”
”In terms of romance, this stinks on ice. It feels like a business deal, not a proposal. Like I should shake your hand instead of kissing you.”
”What do you mean?”
”I've been thinking about how I'd propose for a long time. In all the scenarios I'd imagined, none of then included being ambushed in the bathroom after a bout with bad Mexican food.”
”Oh. Did I steal your thunder?”
”No. Not really. Well, yes. Seems like I should have been the one to propose.”
Dammit, I forgot that he might have a stake in this whole marriage thing. It didn't occur to me that he may have had expectations, too. I've got to return his thunder because I hate seeing him disappointed. I suggest, ”Why don't you officially propose once you get a setting for Nanny's diamond?”
He brightens immediately. ”That's a good idea! I'll do that. But I won't tell you when, because I want it to be a surprise. How about I take the day off tomorrow to go to Jewelers' Row and look at settings?”
”Sounds like a plan.” We smile at each other. As he leans in for a kiss, Maisy jumps up between us and gives him a once-over with her tongue. She's small but determined, so the easiest thing is to simply let her finish. Fortunately, she tires quickly, and he returns his attention to me, drying his face with the tail of his s.h.i.+rt.
”We're really going to do this, huh?”
”As long as my parents are cool with the finances, and we can get a nice s.p.a.ce booked some time over Labor Day weekend, then, yeah, I think so.”
We seal the deal with a dog-free peck. Just as I'm about to get up from the couch, he stops me.
”Can I ask you something?”
He wants to ask me something? OHMIG.o.d! He's going to propose right now! I bet he was planning to do this all along! It all makes sense.... We are having people over tonight, and we never have guests on a Sunday.... I think our barbecue is really supposed to be a surprise engagement party. Woo-hoo! He's going to ask me to marry him!
Yes, I know we've technically just agreed to marry, but I wasn't expecting my big, romantic proposal today. No wonder he got squirrelly for a minute there. HE was going to propose, and I beat him to the punch! What an unbelievable coincidence that we both decided to do it today! Are we in unison or what? We are SO meant to be together.
With my heart in my throat and hands shaking, I look adoringly into his eyes and say, ”Fletcher, you can ask me anything.”
He stops to catch his breath. Aww, he's trying to work up his confidence for what is the biggest moment in his life. We both pause. OK, here we go!!
”What's wrong with Maisy's foot?”
Courtney, Brett, Kim, and Biola are here for our Cinco de Mayo gathering, and the wedding announcement has put everyone in a particularly festive mood. We're all drinking margaritas and woofing down guacamole while Fletch tends to the rib eyes sizzling away on the grill.
”Fletch, when did you know Jen was the one?” asks Biola.
Fletch closes the lid to the grill and sits down with us. Cracking open a Miller High Life, he says, ”I knew years ago.” He takes a sip and reflects for a minute. ”Specifically, it was our first Valentine's Day, and we'd been together about three months. We went to the nicest restaurant in our college town and had the best dinner of my life. Jen picked out everything-the wine, the appetizers, our entrees, etc. I was so impressed by her confidence and the way she handled herself I began to think she was out of my league.”
I laugh. ”Didn't last long, did it?”
”We finished dinner and went to her apartment. When we got there, her cats were acting strange. They normally sleep twenty-three hours a day, so to find them awake and alert was really unusual. They were fixated on this black spot on the wall. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a small bat.”
”How did you get a bat in your apartment?” Brett asks me, but his eyes never leave Courtney's direction. Hmm, I may have to try my hand at matchmaking. I bet they'd make a nice couple, especially since Court's finally rid of the Chadifornicator.