by S. A. Wolfe
“I thought you should know about Justek.”
“Of course, I should. Your brother died. You must have been devastated when your mother told you. I’m so sorry this happened to you, to your family. Mila, Jesus, your poor mother.”
“Yes, it explains so much about us. And to be fair to you—”
“Fair to me? What do you mean?”
“This affects you, too. If you think you can have a future with me, this changes everything.”
“What are you talking about? Changes what?” Something flares in his eyes.
He’s so goddamn gorgeous. He has a dark tan, and his hair has grown out a bit again, making him look like one of the surfers who devote whole days to the ocean.
“I think you brought me on this trip because you do want more for us. You said you love me.”
“And you haven’t exactly said it back. Why do you think I arranged to have dinner here without the others? Why don’t you tell me what I want to hear, Talia?”
Our table is on an open porch overlooking the ocean. We have a buffer of privacy created by the customer chatter of the busy restaurant and the sound of the crashing waves. Except for the people who take an extra-long look at Peyton—a tall, handsome man stands out anywhere—no one pays attention to our conversation.
The words rush out in a forced, nonchalant manner. “I feel the same way.”
“What was that?” He laughs. “Could you be more specific?” He squeezes my hand and traps me with those startling gray eyes. The man knocks the wind out of me, and my heart flutters, a terrible combination if you’re prone to imaginary heart attacks like I am. “Talia.” That deep voice and the way he says my name slowly, like it’s something precious, give me goosebumps. His smile disarms my ability to stay tough.
“I love you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” he says, and we both laugh.
“I love you!” I say too loudly, and a couple at another table smiles at us.
“Good. Then we’re set.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. It’s fairly large for a ring, but it’s alarming, nonetheless.
“Wait! We still haven’t discussed this.”
“Getting nervous already? It’s just a box.”
“Peyton, I told you about my brother because it means my heart condition is hereditary.”
“Was. You’re fixed. You’re perfectly healthy.”
“I’m healthy, but I carry the gene for mitral valve prolapse. If I have children, they would inherit this, and they could die before they’re diagnosed, or they could have to go through the same invasive surgery I had. It’s dangerous.”
“Could inherit. Not would. Everyone carries all kinds of things in their DNA, but it doesn’t always guarantee the outcome. Having children carries all kinds of risks. You never know what your child will be born with or how they’ll turn out after eighteen years with their parents.”
“Those are small risks people are willing to take because the odds are in their favor that they don’t have something bad in their DNA,” I say. “I do know what’s in mine, and it isn’t good.”
“Want to know what’s in my DNA? Twins. Beastly twins. Look at my brothers, Evan and Neil. Terrible, horrible twins.”
I laugh. “They are both lovely. Nice brothers and good fathers.”
“My mother passed it on to Greer. You’ve met little Owen and Nikki. Also, beastly children. They destroy houses, and you’ve seen their handiwork at restaurants. We have to leave an extra couple of twenties just for the table cleanup.”
“Stop joking. Having twins is considered a good thing.”
“My brothers’ birth almost killed my mother,” he says flatly. “She was in the hospital for the last two months of the pregnancy, and she lost a lot of blood during labor. The boys were breech. It was a long, difficult delivery, and my mom almost died. If she had, I wouldn’t exist.” He’s somber, talking about his mother.
“It sounds harrowing.”
“Greer also had breech twins, and a very difficult pregnancy and delivery. There’s a reason she doesn’t want more children. So, you see? We all bring something to the mix. Just because Aleska doesn’t have a bad valve doesn’t mean it’s not in her DNA.”
He’s right. I was so relieved my sister was cleared during her checkup, but it doesn’t change our genetics.
“Talia, I’m not asking you to have children. I’m asking you to be with me.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever have children. I want them, but I’m not sure I can go through with having them, because I’m so afraid of what I’ll pass on to them.”
“I know you are, but again, I’m not asking you to have children if you don’t want to.”
“Someday you may want more. You missed out on Finn’s birth and childhood. You can say one thing now, but in a few years, you may want another son or daughter, and I might not be able to do that.”
“I’m not Marko. I don’t have any standard requirements in order for us to be together. Finn is crazy about you, and I know you’re fond of him. I have everything I want.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.”
He slides the box toward me. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Finn already told me it’s kind of a dud offering. Open it anyway.” He releases my hand, and I pick up the box and pop open the hinge.
Sitting on a satin bed is a familiar-looking key.
I look at Peyton’s grin.
“You guessed it. It’s a key to my house. And yes, you already have one. I was planning on asking you to live with me.”
“And you changed your mind?”
“Nope. I still want you to live with me, but Finn said my plan was lame. He said it wasn’t going to impress you since you already have a key and full access to my house. So we came up with a new plan.”
“We?”
“Finn helped me come up with an offer you can’t refuse.”
“I haven’t refused you. I’m simply putting all the cards on the table so you don’t rush into something you’ll regret later.”
“I love you. Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because I’m not going anywhere. I know what I want. You have serious trust issues, but you can trust me. I won’t break your heart.”
“You have to be sure because, when I’m with you, I’m excited and terrified at the same time. I’m terricited. It’s a real thing. My heart flip-flops all over the place, and medically speaking, it could kill me.”
Peyton laughs.
“If we get more serious, and then break up later, my heart would shatter.”
Peyton shakes his head, smiling. “You give your poor heart a workout. But I’m so sure about you and me that I got us a new house. Well, not new, but … I got off the phone with Archie a while ago. You and I are going to take over Norma’s house. We can renovate the kitchen or whatever you think needs work, or we can leave it as is. It’s your call. Are you okay with that? Being in Norma’s old house?”
“Really?” I haven’t really thought about how Norma’s home has been sitting vacant. “Sometimes, I walk through her house so I can feel her close to me. Not that I believe in ghosts, but her house has familiar scents, and it brings back nice memories.”
“I know. Your mom told me. I also called her today while you were shopping. I told her I’d like for us to live next door to her. We’ll be there to help her, at least until she becomes more independent again. And we can take Baby off her hands. She can’t handle that huge dog when you’re at work, so Baby will be back in his old house, too.”
“I’m not sure Harmony will be thrilled that you’re moving her son next door to your girlfriend’s mother. She may feel like you have an unfair advantage.”
“Nah, we’re not like that. She was my third phone call today. We spoke for over an hour. Do you know how long it takes for you to shop for a dress?”
“It took three hours to find this dress,�
� I say, looking down and admiring the silky blue material clinging to my waist.
“And it was worth every minute.” He leans over the table and, in a conspiratorial tone, says, “I can’t wait to take it off you.”
“So you’re saying you called all these people and just like that, we’re moving into Norma’s house?”
“And Harmony is moving into the house on the other side of Norma’s, the one that’s been vacant the longest. She said she’s going to have to gut it completely and renovate before she can live there.”
My eyes must have bulged wide, because Peyton barks a deep laugh, and more customers glance our way.
“You’re not joking, right?” I ask.
“Not joking. We’re going full-on cuddle-parenting with Finn. She’s giving up the big, expensive house in Westchester, and with her next door, Finn won’t have to do that long-distance shuttle between our houses. He’s going to switch to the public school in Hera—his idea. We had to agree to invite his new Westchester friends to Hera for sleepovers and video game weekends. That’s how everything else fell into place.”
“You orchestrated this whole thing today while I was out shopping?”
“Sunflower,” he says slowly. “I’m on a mission. What do you say?”
“I’m considering it,” I say, but I hardly sound like I’m going to refuse him.
“Hmm, you do that.” He smirks. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”
We leave the restaurant and walk along the boardwalk, swinging our clasped hands, feeling silly and happy.
We all have those moments where an idea or an answer comes to us with crystal clarity and assurance. This is my moment. Suddenly, all my doubts are gone.
Peyton is the one. The only one.
I don’t have to be scared of defective hearts and future children. I don’t have to make that decision today, because Peyton is with me. He’s my person. We’ll go through everything together.
I stop walking and pull his hand toward me. “Peyton.” He turns to face me with a pleased but questioning expression. “I’d like to ask you something.”
“Ah, more cross-examination. Whatever it takes to convince you. Go ahead, give me your toughest questions.”
“Will you marry me?” It’s so easy to ask.
He doesn’t say anything. He stares at me as if I’m going to finish with a snappy joke. When he realizes I’m serious, his face breaks into one of those devilish grins. “Sunflower, the point of living together is that we’ll eventually get married, right? Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who’d put you and my kid through years of playing house without—”
“No, will you marry me today?”
Peyton clams up. Either he’s caught off guard that I’m actually proposing, stealing his thunder as they say, or perhaps this is all too soon for him.
“I know a certain bus driver who also happens to be an ordained minister. He’s in Wildwood, and I bet he could be here in the next hour or so if I ask.”
A little twinkle flickers in Peyton’s eyes. “You’re asking if I’ll marry you now?”
“Yes, I am. The house key gift was sweet. I like everything you said. I also know what I want.”
“Yes.” He grasps my waist with his strong hands, and my feet leave the ground. He’s one of those men who can actually lift and twirl a girl. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Peyton wants Finn to be our only witness. He explains that to Cooper and Greer over the phone. They are at the hotel with Finn, relaxing after playing in the ocean all day. Peyton says it’s only fair he not have his family present since my sister and mother can’t be here.
I call Alejandro, who’s so overwhelmed that I would ask him to officiate that he says he can be here in twenty minutes, ten if he drives fast. He assures me that he’s driving his wife’s car, not the party bus. Peyton says he needs more time and asks Alejandro to meet us in an hour.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask as he pulls my hand.
“Stop trying to ruin all my surprises, woman.”
Across the street from our hotel is a cute, pink Victorian house, Victorious, a store that carries fashionable clothing and accessories. It specializes in vintage estate jewelry—notably, engagement rings—and my eyes glaze over when I see all the pretty diamond rings encased in the glass counter. I peer down at them while the saleswoman explains different styles.
“I thought you’d like this shop. You love old stuff,” he says when I gape at a stunning ring the saleswoman holds out for me to inspect.
“Vintage,” I clarify, and he laughs. “Some woman wore the ring before me. The ring has its own story. I wonder if they had a long, happy marriage.”
“Isn’t that beautiful?” the saleswoman asks as I slide the solitaire on my finger and hold it up for Peyton to see. “It’s a three-carat center diamond, white gold.”
“Do you like it?” Peyton asks.
“It’s very pretty, but I’m not sure it’s me. It’s big.”
“What about this one?” The saleswoman takes a small, white box out of the case and rests it on the counter. Nestled in a worn bed of faded blue velvet, this ring has a smaller diamond than the previous one, but it sits in a square setting and has more detail. The style looks more old-fashioned than anything I’ve ever seen. I imagine this ring belonged to a woman who wore Edwardian-style dresses and coiffed hair like someone out of Downton Abbey.
“It fits perfectly,” I say as I admire the ring on my finger.
“Then you’re a size five,” she says. “It’s a center diamond, a little less than two carats. It’s platinum, and the band has ten smaller diamonds.”
“Is it Edwardian?” I ask, eagerly wanting this ring to suit me.
She looks at a notecard next to the box. “Circa 1920. About a decade later than Edwardian.”
“Is that all right?” Peyton asks me. “Were you looking for a specific time period?”
“No, just curious.” I rotate my hand back and forth, mesmerized by the pretty antique ring. “It’s exquisite.” I look at Peyton for confirmation.
“It’s you.” He smiles. “It’s definitely you.”
Behind Peyton, I notice a young woman standing in front of a floor-length mirror, turning side to side to get a better look at the very short, black lace dress she’s modeling. She’s taller than me, and that dress was made for her. Without thinking, I walk over to the mirror.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman says. “I’m hogging the mirror.” She moves aside, and I step in front of the mirror.
“I actually just want to see what I look like wearing an engagement ring.” I show off my hand.
Peyton laughs at me.
A brief, kind smile skirts across the young woman’s face. She’s dazzling, and that’s when I recognize her. She’s Zerina Baldwin, famous because her grandfather was one of the most popular US presidents before he died of cancer in the middle of his second term, and her father is an outspoken career senator who wants to run for president in the next election.
There are always photographs of Zerina on popular blogs and entertainment shows, and she always seems to be running from the cameras, trying to hide from the press that is obsessed with her and her famous family. She is someone I would seek out in tabloid news ever since the cameras started following her when she was a child. I grew up reading everything I could about her, admiring how she handled herself in television interviews and spoke so eloquently about her family’s political legacy and humanitarian work. If I could be anyone, I always imagined having Zerina Baldwin’s life, her family, and her expensive education. I would mark time from my elementary school days, through my teens, to now by events publicized in Zerina Baldwin’s life. I would mimic her fashion sense with designer knock-offs and try to carry myself in certain situations as I imagined she would. To me, she was the epitome of perfection, and I thought all my attempts at copying her would improve me and my life.
But here she is, in front of me. No entourage, no cameras, she’s alone
. She’s just as beautiful in person as I expected, but this woman, who has lived an exciting life, seems to have an aura of someone who’s lonely, and it seems wrong that I notice this. I have inadvertently been given a glimpse into her private world, like an intruder. I don’t think Peyton has recognized her. He’s too busy watching me as if I’m the only woman in existence.
Out of guilt for my own happiness, I avert my eyes from Zerina Baldwin and look at the woman in the mirror, dressed in her lazy, summer day attire, flashing a diamond ring at herself because she’s getting married.
“It’s a beautiful ring,” Zerina says. “You should get that one.”
“Thank you.” Our eyes meet in the mirror. “You look lovely in that dress. You should definitely get it.”
Peyton swings a heavy arm around my shoulders. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s pay for the ring. We have a wedding to get to.”
We complete the transaction with the saleswoman, and as we walk away from the register, Zerina approaches the counter, ready to purchase the black dress. A brief smile passes between us, and I wonder if seeing her in this shop, in this little beachside town, is a coincidence or if the universe is giving me a sign.
I wouldn’t think I’m significant enough to warrant such symbolism from the heavens. I’ve spent so many years picking out my flaws and comparing myself to this particular celebrity that being in her presence and seeing that she is a mere mortal is a revelation for me. The woman I thought who had it all doesn’t seem to have half of what I have, which makes her human.
I’m a stranger to her, but this encounter makes me feel closer to her. Even if this is merely a coincidence, she has a profound effect on me, and I would tell her this if it didn’t make me sound like every other stalker.
“Congratulations,” she says as Peyton and I walk toward the store exit.
If I only had half of the happiness I’m feeling at this moment, it would last me a lifetime and exceed any expectations I ever had. Who would have thought I would ever be in this position with this much love? I wish I could throw some Zerina’s way, but I know she’ll be fine.
