“Fine. Good. It’s fine,” she rushes the words out, setting her wine glass back on the table.
“Can we talk about what’s really important?” her mother speaks. “When are you two getting married? I mean, a year is a long time. Longer than you’ve ever dated anyone, honey. What’s the hold-up, Logan?”
Her eyes narrow on me from across the table and I shift uncomfortably in my seat while Nicholas covers his mouth to hide his smile.
“Mom, seriously,” Noel complains.
“Seriously what? I’m just asking a simple question. I thought we’d be planning a wedding while you were home,” her mother complains with a sigh.
“Come on, Mom, leave her alone,” Nicholas says, finally sticking up for his sister and moving up a few notches on my “favorite person” chart.
“I just want both my children to be happy, is that too much to ask? I’m going to die soon.”
Everyone’s heads whip toward Bev in shock.
“Mom! Are you sick?” Noel asks in a scared whisper.
“Well, no, not at this moment. But I could get sick. And I could die. I could die without ever seeing my daughter settle down and be happily married,” she replies in a huff.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nicholas mutters, picking up his own wine glass and downing the entire thing.
“How about everyone just stop worrying about Noel and let her figure things out on her own?” I suggest.
Reggie points his finger at me angrily. “You defiled Santa’s Workshop. Your opinion is invalid!”
I shrink back in my seat, wishing I would have kept my mouth shut.
“Is she not sexing it up enough, Logan? Is that why you haven’t asked yet?” Bev questions, looking back at me.
Your daughter’s * tastes like sugar cookies and she has a mouth like a Hoover vacuum. She sexes it up just fine.
“Uhhhh,” I mutter instead of stating what I’m thinking.
“I left some pornographic movies on your nightstand and one of my negligees to spice things up a bit. Maybe that will help,” Bev announces.
“Mom, there will never be a time when that sentence is in any way appropriate for you to say to me,” Noel informs her with a grimace of disgust.
I rest my hand on top of her thigh under the table and give it a comforting squeeze, even though I’m the one who needs comforting right now before I throw up all that delicious food I inhaled.
“I’ll have you know I have very good taste in sexy nighties. I get them on sale at Victoria’s Secret,” Bev tells her with a wink.
“You want to know what Victoria’s Secret is?” Reggie asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “She charges an arm and a leg for a scrap of fabric that doesn’t stay on for more than five minutes. Why, back in my day, all a woman had to do was get naked to turn a man on. Now they need snaps and zippers and whips and whoozits. This world is going to shit when a man can’t just be happy with boobs.”
Realizing this conversation is quickly taking a turn for the worse, I quickly push my chair back from the table, thinking fast and knowing I need to do something before Bev starts in on Noel again about not settling down.
While Reggie is still complaining about whips and chains and Bev is droning on and on about why Noel doesn’t think she has good taste in lingerie, I reach for my wallet in my back pocket and quickly pull out the small item nestled inside one of the credit card slots. Something I’ve kept in there since I was old enough to carry a wallet and take it out to hold in my hand whenever I’m feeling sorry for myself.
Tossing my wallet onto the table once I get the item out, I quickly get down on one knee next to Noel’s chair and softly clear my throat.
“Holy shit!” Nicholas curses, making Noel turn her head toward me to see what he’s staring at all wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Holy shit,” she whispers as well when she sees me down on one knee next to her, holding up a gold engagement ring with a one carrot princess cut diamond in the center.
“I wanted to wait until the perfect moment to do this, because you are perfect,” I tell her honestly. “But I realized it doesn’t matter where or when I do this, just that I do it.”
I clear my throat again, a lump forming in it so large that I’m afraid if I don’t spit these words out, I’ll forget how to speak. My hands are shaking and my palms are sweaty as I stare up into the face of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I wish I could tell her this isn’t for show. This isn’t part of the fake Logan charade. This is real and everything I say is real.