Michael looked from me to Dad like he was trying to figure out what we were talking about.
“I have something for you.” I unzipped my pocket and pulled out the box, handing it to Dad.
Michael stared at the box, his mouth still open. “Is this…” he asked, his voice trailing off.
Dad opened the ring box, the line of diamonds glittering in the hot sun. He got down on one knee, right there in front of the port-a-johns.
“Michael,” Dad said. “This isn’t exactly how I planned, but will you marry me?”
Michael had his hands on his cheeks. “Oh my god,” he said. He looked at Dad. Then he looked over at me. “Omigod. Really?”
“Really,” Dad said, rising to his feet.
“Of course I’ll marry you!” Michael yelled at Dad. Dad slid the ring onto Michael’s finger. Michael wiped his eyes and pulled Dad into a kiss.
Several people around us clapped and cheered. For a moment I had forgotten about the crowd. A bunch of people were watching.
Sage and I looked at each other. I could feel myself blush.
“Wow,” Michael said. He held up his hand sparkling in the light of the sun. He looked at Sage and me.
Dad leaned toward Michael for another kiss, but Michael pushed him away.
“Stop,” Michael said. “I need to pee.”
He darted into a port-a-john. Dad laughed and pulled me into a hug.
When Michael emerged, he gave Dad that second kiss.
“And you two,” Michael said, turning to Sage and me. “I don’t know what to say. I’m buying you guys some lemonade.”
“Hallelujah,” Sage said.
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good.”
“Radiant,” Dad said.
I smiled. “Radiant.”
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is like growing a garden. There were many tasks and I needed a lot of help. Thank you to all that helped this book to grow.
First of all, I’d like to thank Dr. Sarah Park Dahlen for opening my mind to writing for justice and for introducing me to the scholarship of Michael Cart and Christine A. Jenkins in The Heart Has Its Reasons which started the seed of a story within me.
Thank you to my old neighborhood of Stevens Square, and to Metro Transit for providing such a fertile environment to work in. I wrote my first drafts of this book while riding the bus to and from class on public transit between Stevens Square, Minneapolis and Saint Paul.
I offer my sincerest thanks to my partner, Kris, and my dear friend, Abbie, who helped me to clear away the rocks and plastic until the story could breathe. And Rachel Joy, who helped the budding words to bloom.
Thank you, Stephen Fraser, for believing and finding the right place to plant my manuscript. Many thanks to Fian Arroyo for the abundant illustrations. And to Keith Garton and the team at One Elm for welcoming and watering my story until it could mature.
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