*
“Hey, guys. It’s me—Ethan. Some of you probably don’t know me that well, and have never heard of my channel before, but . . . well, I guess you know me pretty damn well by this point, after watching me lay my soul bare over the girl I love. If you’re new here: thanks! It’s great to have you! I’ll link a couple of my most popular playlists down in the description if you want to check those out, and if you like it, be sure to subscribe and find me on Twitch for more, and you can find a link to my Patreon there, too, if you’d like to help me keep creating.
“But . . . ” I pause here, rubbing the back of my neck and giving an awkward laugh before looking up at the camera again. “I guess I just wanted to address that last video. Obviously, it wasn’t what I was planning to upload yesterday. My girlfriend, Charlotte, got stuck staying with her parents all week because our building was locked down for this whole virus sitch, and in case it wasn’t completely bloody obvious in my video, I really missed her, and I guess that got me thinking about our future and stuff.
“I’m not . . . not good with words, usually, but talking to a camera is something I’m pretty comfortable with.” My hands flap back and forth between me and the screen, as if to demonstrate. “I figured if I sat there and talked at my camera long enough, I’d know what I wanted to say to her when I proposed. Except, obviously, that plan went all to shit, because I accidentally uploaded the wrong video.
And I know some people think it was some kind of publicity stunt, or just a bid to go viral, or whatever, but I can promise you—I was mortified. I was half-asleep—and a little tipsy—when I uploaded the video, and it was a total accident.
“A happy accident, though, because . . . well, I know a lot of you guys are wondering . . .
“She said yes! So, uh, yeah. Thanks for, uh, watching, and for all the well wishes. I really appreciate it, and so does Charlotte. It’s really sweet of you guys. But, hey, that’s it from me for now! And sorry this isn’t my usual kind of video, either, but I figured after the last one, I’d better update you all. And,” I add finally, clasping my hands lightly together, my index fingers pointing together toward the camera while the rest of my fingers fold over each other, “regular programming will resume on my channel from here on out. I don’t expect to turn into a wedding planning channel, but, hey, who am I kidding?
I’ll probably be so damn excited I’ll be telling you guys everything anyway.
“Thanks for watching, I’ve been Ethan Maddox, and you’ve been awesome.”
*
I sit back and hit upload before I can second-guess myself. It’s not even edited to cut out the um s or the long pauses, and the audio and lighting and color grading probably aren’t too great, either, but I can’t bring myself to care in the way I usually do.
It’s really not what I’d normally post, but if I’m going to leave the Dear Charlotte video up (even if just for a little while), I’d better follow up and address it.
Especially since the whole internet is clamouring to know what happened.
I title the video She said yes, and aside from the default message pushing viewers to subscribe, and links to some of my playlists and other social media, I leave the description blank.
Jack messages me within five minutes of the video going live to tell me I’m a sap, and good God that was sickly sweet, and he loves me and he’s waiting for an equally great viral video for me to ask him to be my best man.
I laugh at the text, but now he’s mentioned it that might actually be a really fun idea.
And I mean, obviously, he’s going to be my best man. I’ll bet Charlotte’s already asked Maisie to be her maid of honor. I get a message from Nate a few minutes later too—berating me for “doing too good a job” and setting unrealistic expectations for him, when he finally does find a girl he wants to settle down with. (It makes me wonder how the week with his one-night stand has gone; I’ll have to ask him.)
I do have another video. Maisie’s friend Isla, who lives in Number Fifteen upstairs, recorded the whole thing on her phone yesterday from her balcony. The audio quality isn’t great, and the footage is shaky, but I have it saved on my computer and know I’ll treasure it regardless.
I definitely have no plans to upload that one, though. That’s just for me and Charlotte.
Speaking of . . .
I check Find My Friends again.
She’s only a few minutes away.
I jump back out of my seat, pacing the apartment to burn off my renewed nervous energy. I go out on to the balcony, leaning over it and bouncing on the balls of my feet, watching her little dot move closer and closer on the map, and then finally:
“Oi!” I shout down from the balcony, spotting a shock of ginger hair and a familiar bag. “Future Mrs. Maddox!”
Charlotte’s head immediately twists in my direction, and her face splits into a smile.
And just like that, I’m gone, clattering out of the apartment and not even wearing a pair of socks, barreling down the stairs and almost falling flat on my face again, throwing the door open just as Charlotte arrives outside.
She looks startled to see me, but I only catch the look on her face for a split second before I’ve wrapped her in my arms, pulling her flush against me, getting a whiff of her coconut shampoo, and I’m kissing her, and it feels so goddamn good to kiss her, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been this in love with her.
Charlotte lets out a startled squeak against my lips, but it quickly turns into a giggle. Her bag hits the ground and her arms wrap around my neck, like she can pull herself even closer to me. Her lips curve into a smile as she kisses me.
“Hey, you,” she murmurs.
“God, I missed you.”
She giggles again as she kisses me once more. “You don’t say?”
We break apart for air when someone clears their throat.
It’s Mr. Harris, raising an eyebrow at us and trying not to look too smiley at our soppy display.
“You kids want to take that inside? Or farther outside? Six feet, remember? You’re blocking the way.”
We both look around and see an older couple dithering on the stairs, not sure if they’re allowed to scoot past us. I give them a sheepish smile, while Charlotte doesn’t even blush. I pick up her bag and we stand to the side to let them out, before going inside to our own apartment. I wrap an arm around her waist, like I can’t get enough of her—because, well, I can’t.
“Hang on,” I tell her, stopping her as she gets to our door. I might not be athletically inclined, but I can manage to scoop her up, bridal style, to carry her two feet through the door before setting her back down. Charlotte can’t stop laughing, or smiling, and I love it. I love her, so much.