Hi. Marry Me

by Kimberley Taylor

  “There’s a couch,” she said.

  “Yep,” Tony said. “I spoke with a designer friend after you left, and she had some friends whip us up a house full of stuff.”

  “It’s crazy what money can do,” said Diana.

  “Yes, crazy,” said Tony. “But we can think about that in the morning. Coming up to bed?”

  “Yeah,” said Diana, and she climbed up the stairs. They could think more in the morning.

  Chapter 9

  Diana rose the next morning with the sun. Their new bedroom was vast—almost the size of the entire floor—some ten times as big as the enormous king-sized bed in which they'd slept.

  In which they had slept, Diana thought. She rolled over. Tony was there, sleeping, in the half of the bed which wasn't hers. They'd shared a bed.

  That was new.

  The light streaming through the window was young yet, still rosy and pale yellow. Diana rolled back to look at the other side of the room. She contemplated going back to sleep, and then discarded that idea. She didn’t think she’d be able to. Something about the morning was pulling her out of bed.

  She slipped out from between the sheets, grabbed her robe from off the hook stuck in the wall right by her side of the bed, and padded out of the master down the winding stairs to the galley kitchen. The sun was streaming through the windows in full force there. Diana had to squint to see.

  She turned to the counter and found that Tony had set up a drinks station just above the dishwasher with thin glass mugs and an espresso machine and tiny pots of grinds and honey. She turned on the machine. Her ancient training as a barista came into focus as she figured out where to put the coffee beans so they would roast and grind, how to operate the milk wand so it didn’t sputter milk everywhere, as she watched the espresso pour from the industrial machine to the tiny cup to form the sienna crema. She foamed the milk, mixed the two, and leaned against the counter to enjoy a latte with cinnamon—her favorite drink.

  She wondered if Tony had somehow known this. He seemed to know an unfair amount about her and her past, while she didn’t know as much about him; they’d have to reconcile that difference, somehow. Today. She’d figure out a way to get him to talk about himself.

  She padded around the golden wood floors and let herself out onto the balcony overlooking the tiny green backyard they’d purchased. There was an Adirondack chair with a small table next to it. Diana set down her coffee and laid back in the chair, propping her feet up on the railing…

  The next thing she knew, Tony was there. She'd fallen asleep again.

  “It’s one of the most delicious things there is, falling back to sleep for a quick early-morning nap, isn’t it?”

  Tony was looking down at her and smiling fondly. Diana blinked the sleep away and sat up. “I agree. What time is it?”

  “Going on eleven.”

  Panic coursed through Diana’s system for two seconds before she realized it was a Sunday. One week since her life had turned upside-down. When this realization hit her, she snuggled back into the chair and pulled her robe around her. “This is the best morning,” she said.

  Tony smiled. “I’m fond of it, too,” he said. “Now. Your coffee—hand it over.”

  Diana felt the mug. “It’s gone cold.”

  “That it has. Which is why I’m going to drink it and make you a fresh cup. Boiling hot, with piles of foam. And cinnamon.”

  “How did you know I liked cinnamon?”

  “I asked one of your friends,” said Tony. “When we were going to get married, I called up your friend Joy to see if I could figure out a few things to surprise you with. Make you happy, you know.”

  So that was why Joy hadn’t been overly surprised, why she’d had the bandwidth to make sure that she had the time to worry about her friend even through her own wedding preparations. Diana shook her head. “You both are too good,” she said. She stood up and followed Tony inside. “You don’t need to drink my cold coffee,” she said. “We can make enough fresh for us both.”

  “I prefer cold coffee,” Tony said, smiling. “All year round.”

  “That’s insane,” said Diana. “Even in the dead of winter? Coffee’s supposed to be a thing that warms you, you know.”

  “I don’t know that. In my world, it’s just something that perks me up. And you know what’s really good at doing that, even on its own, sans caffeine? Cold things.” As he spoke he opened the glass-front refrigerator and took out an ice tray. He shook some ice into a tall glass, and poured Diana’s cold latte over it. “There we go,” said Tony. “Cinnamon latte on the rocks. I dare you not to find some café that wouldn’t charge me seven dollars for that.”

  “That’s too many negatives for me to deal with in the morning,” said Diana. “Here, move, I’ll make another cup.

  “Do you take your coffee with cream or sugar?” she asked, and then she looked up at the sky. “No, you don’t—I remember.”

  “And neither do you. Usually. These lattes are an exception.”

  “A delicious exception.”

  “I’ll give you that. When it’s on ice.”

  “Never. Here, I’ll make another one for me and when you just taste what you’re missing—”

  “My life will change, and so on, I’m sure,” said Tony drily.

  Diana whipped up another latte, this time adding a sprig of lavender from the vase on the counter . The herb infused the milk gently with the relaxing aroma.

  “It’s like a little piece of heaven,” said Diana. “A warm little piece of heaven.”

  “I thought heaven was a cool place,” said Tony. “Not hot.”

  “You haven’t been reading your Dante if you thought that,” Diana retorted. “Anyway, I expect what temperature we perceive heaven to be is based off where we live. You know—if you grow up in a hot climate, it’ll be cool, and if in a cold climate, it’ll be nice and toasty warm. So, what’s on today’s agenda?” She slid onto one of the high stools next to the counter and smiled up at Tony. He looked down at her appreciatively. With a start, Diana realized that this was one of the most informal moments they'd enjoyed together—barring perhaps the other morning when they’d shared a blanket on the couch as they sipped their coffee. They were beginning to stitch together moments which actually felt as though they belonged to the lives of a married couple.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” said Tony. “I had one of my staff stock our kitchen with everything, so I thought we could cook up some brunch. Are you much of a chef?”

  “I bet I’m better at it than you,” said Diana, sliding off her stool and going to analyze the contents of the fridge. There were fresh berries of all sorts – raspberries and strawberries and blueberries and blackberries – as well as cream and honey and bacon and jam.

  “We’re making pancakes,” Diana announced. “There’s a pantry over here, right?” She walked to the other large door in the kitchen and swung it open. She rejoiced to find large, organized, labelled Plexiglas containers of flour and sugar and salt and yeast. She flipped back over to the refrigerator to make sure that they had eggs. They did. She whisked them out of the cold and onto the counter.

  “Does that sound good to you?” She looked up at her husband with an arched eyebrow.

  “Anything sounds good to me. I saw bacon in there, though. So we’re making bacon.”

  “You’re making bacon. It’s the one thing that I can’t seem to master. No matter what method I use to cook it, it always burns.”

  “Well, you’re not cooking it the right way, then,” said Tony. “The way I cook is simple and it’s perfect every time.”

  “What, how do you cook it?”

  Tony waggled his eyebrows at her. “I use the microwave.”

  “No! That’s cheating,” said Diana with a gasp.

  “It’s not cheating, it’s just using the tools that I have available to me,” said Tony reasonably. “You’re not afraid that it
’s going to poison your food or whatever, are you?”

  “Not at all,” said Diana. “You do whatever you want—just make sure it’s delicious at the end of it.”

  “You got it. It’s bacon, anyhow. How could I mess it up?”

  “I usually find a way to do it,” said Diana darkly. She went through the cupboards until she found a large stainless steel bowl. She ran it under the sink just to make sure that there wasn’t any dust or anything in it—there wasn’t—and then she cracked a few eggs into the bowl. They were almost violently orange—nearing red. “Wow,” said Diana. “These are super nice eggs.”

  “They are,” said Tony. “I’m quite specific about them. The yolks are where all the nutrients are, you know. Nature’s vitamins, and all that.”

  Diana did not know what to say to that. “Well,” she managed. “They’re going to be delicious.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Here, you’re not just going to do the bacon,” Diana said. She walked the flour and other dry ingredients over to Tony, and then got him out another bowl. “If you’re cooking it in the microwave it’s only going to take—what—two minutes?”

  “Try four,” said Tony. “But do go on.”

  “Right. Well, four minutes before we plan to start eating, throw the bacon in, then,” said Diana. “Until then—throw two cups of flour through a sieve.”

  “Okay, then,” said Tony. “What’s a sieve?”

  Diana rummaged through the cupboards again until she found the small strainer. “Here you go,” she said.

  Tony put the sieve on top of the bowl and unceremoniously dumped a cup of flour into it. Nothing happened.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Diana informed Tony. “You need way more finesse than that, look, put a bit of flour in—” she demonstrated, and then began to shake the sieve from side to side, banging it against her hand—“and then you jostle everything a bit, so that fine flour goes through and any clumps stay above. You see?”

  “Yeah. Question. Why are we doing this?”

  “It’ll make the pancakes way fluffier. And it’ll give you something to do that isn’t just pressing a button on a machine. You’ve got to be in touch with things, actually get your fingers into the dough—it’s good for you. It’s like earthing.”

  “Earthing?”

  “Maybe that’s what we’ll do later today,” Diana said, laughing. “Earthing—it’s just walking around barefoot. You know, making sure that your skin touches actual nature. It’s supposed to be ridiculously good for you.”

  “Whereas I just think it sounds ridiculous.”

  “Many wonderful things do sound ridiculous. Speaking of which: I’m going to oil up and heat this cast-iron skillet, and we’ll heat up the syrup in this pan. I’ll chop up fruit to use as toppings, as well,” said Diana, going back to the fridge and pulling out the raspberries and blackberries.”

  “I’ve got the dry stuff sieved,” said Tony.

  “Right,” said Diana. “Now, start on the wet stuff. Whisk up those eggs, here’s a fork.”

  Diana then ran around the kitchen pulling out the olive oil and the milk and the butter. “Then whisk all of this in.” She looked in a small cabinet and smiled. “Here, this, too. But just a drop.” She tossed him a tiny bottle of vanilla extract.

  “This is complicated,” said Tony, accidentally spilling olive oil all over the counter.

  “Many good things are,” said Diana, smiling.

  “Why are we using olive oil, anyway,” said Tony. “I thought it was a savory sort of thing.”

  “So you’ve never had an olive oil cake then, I suppose,” said Diana. “We’ll have one later. They’re the best. But no, not entirely savory, it just makes it moist and dense and lovely.”

  “I have yet to be convinced,” said Tony. “I’m still pretty sure that sounds disgusting.”

  “You’ll see, you’ll love it,” said Diana. They continued to cook until Diana had turned out a plate of fluffy pancakes and Tony had a plate piled high with bacon. Diana sprinkled cut berries and syrup all over the stack of pancakes, and then she and Tony carried the two plates to the dining room. Diana handed him a fork.

  “Dig in,” she said.

  “What, are we going to share a plate?”

  “Don’t sound horrified, we’re married, remember?” Diana cut herself a bite from the stack of pancakes and began to eat with extreme gusto.

  “These are so good,” said Tony, his mouth partially full. Diana decided not to comment on this. She reached across him and grabbed a perfectly cooked piece of bacon.

  “This is so well done,” said Diana, marveling. “It’s crispy without being charred. It still tastes like bacon.”

  “Have I made a microwave convert out of you?”

  “Or something,” said Diana, laughing.

  They ate and ate until they could eat no more, and then the two of them did the dishes. After this, Diana looked over at Tony.

  “So, what else is on the menu for today?”

  “I think that I’m going to spend the afternoon running some errands,” said Tony.

  “Which ones?”

  “Ones,” said Tony.

  “Man of mystery, you are,” said Diana.

  “Which leaves you free to do precisely whatever you want,” said Tony.

  “Yeah,” said Diana. “I’ll probably go over and close out my old place.”

  “Sounds good,” said Tony. “Oh,” he added. “Before you head out, I wanted to give you this.”

  He leaned over and took a piece of plastic out of his wallet, which had been laying on the counter. He flicked it onto the counter, where it made a sizable thudding sound. Diana picked it up. It was a credit card with her married name on it.

  “Ooh, shiny,” she said.

  “It’s for you,” Tony said unnecessarily. “Use it or don’t, but it’s connected to all of our accounts.”

  “Wow,” said Diana. She held in her hand the key to billions of dollars.

  “Go nuts, or don’t,” said Tony. “I trust you.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Tony, who was clearly embarrassed about the whole affair. “Hey—let’s have a date night tonight.”

  “A date night?”

  “It’s something that many married people do.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “So—let’s do it. Technically, it would be our first date.”

  “That it would be,” said Diana. “Well—where?”

  “Let’s keep it simple,” said Tony. “We have a movie theater downstairs. Let’s break it in.”

  “Okay,” said Diana. That type of laid-back date night was very much her kind of thing. “What movie shall we watch?”

  “How about—let’s make it a double feature, and we’ll each pick out some movie that’s important to us to share with the other.”

  “Okay, that sounds good,” said Diana. “Meet you back here for dinner?”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” said Tony.

  “See you then,” said Diana.

  *****

  Diana slowly got dressed. Her old clothes seemed as if they didn’t quite fit in her new environment. She made a mental note: Buy new clothing. She didn’t have to spend a ton of money, she didn’t feel pressured or the need otherwise to dress as if she were a billionaire’s wife—but it would be nice to have clothes that weren’t ripping apart; that made her feel beautiful; that made her want to put them on in the morning.

  She pulled the heavy black credit card out of her pocket and put it in her wallet. She might go ahead and make a small purchase that afternoon with it. Just to make sure it actually worked. She’d hardly be human if she was given access to billions of dollars and didn’t get a little bit excited on the first day. Just a little.

  She decided to walk back to her old apartment so she could drive back. Diana got herself ready, put on her shoes, and decided to bre
w a cup of decaf tea to take with her on the way. Once that was done, she headed out into the streets. The sun was shining. It was nice to be out in the fresh air. After about a half hour, she rounded onto her block. It was crazy how much it felt like it had changed; although, it hadn’t, of course. She was the one who had changed.

  She went up and collected another sparse handful of books but then left her keys on the kitchen counter. Everything else in there could go to the next tenant.

  She turned, looked at her old apartment for the last time, and shut the door behind her.

  Diana was feeling quite melancholy as she walked back down the street. She walked back to her new home and felt the vastness and the emptiness of it all, and felt the enormity of the pressure of her new life weigh on her. She sat and sighed.

  But then she brightened.

  She remembered the credit card she had in her pocket.

  Diana ran upstairs. She wasn't shallow enough to believe that retail therapy would actually make her feel more at home in her home—but she also believed in the strength of a good wardrobe. She opened her closet and began to go through each of her things. She tossed out everything that didn’t fit, everything that didn’t make her feel gorgeous; and, looking at what was left, she began to make a list. After this, she gathered up everything that was on her floor and called the driving service.

  “Hi—yes,” she said. “Could you send a car? I’d like to do some shopping.”

  She gathered up the things which were to go to a donation store and slid into the back seat of the limo when it arrived. When the driver asked where she was headed, she gave the address of her favorite thrift shop.

  When she arrived, she first went around back and dropped off her old things. Then she went next door and bought a coffee. After this, she spent a very enjoyable couple of hours perusing each and every item in the thrift store. No longer did a garment which bore a price tag of ten dollars stop her, she thought, feeling almost wicked. She looked for classic items, for vintage items, and—most importantly—the specific pieces of clothing which she had identified on her list as things which would add to the most stylish and most ‘her’ capsule wardrobe she'd ever owned.