The Proposal Box Set 1 / Volumes 1-10

by Lisa Shea

  He chuckled. “You’re always the steady one, Ginny. Not like that younger sister of yours. What was it that Madison was texting you about all last night during dinner?”

  Ginny sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it. So, what’s up? What’s so urgent that you had to deluge me with texts?”

  There was a pause. “I’d rather talk about it in person, Gin. Can you come down to the coffee shop in town? Maybe ten or so? That gives you an hour to shower and dress.”

  Ginny chuckled, looking down at herself. She pretty much wore yoga leggings and t-shirts around anyway, and her short hair barely needed a hand waved through it to meet her standards. Still, a shower wouldn’t do her any harm.

  “Sure. Ten it is. See you there.”

  He clicked off.

  She put the phone back in her purse, nestling it against that unusual doll totem her father had given her when she’d gone out to visit last weekend. She gave a chuckle. Her dad was always a bit off-the-wall like that. But she’d appreciated the love behind the gift and it made her smile to see it in there.

  Her thoughts returned to Sanjeev, and her smile faded. She’d just seen Sanjeev last night, and they had plans to go for a bike ride tomorrow afternoon. What was so important that he’d have to see her in person this morning? Was he finally tired of whatever term applied to this relationship of theirs and call it quits? After all, he’d graduated a full year ago. His parents had been heavily hinting that it was time for him to return home to New Delhi and get on with his life. But somehow he’d found excuses to linger around for the extra year, working at the pottery shop in town. He’d done well there, too, building up a following amongst the professors for his rustic bowls laced with pine trees and herons.

  She rolled up her mat and headed back to her apartment. Technically it was a dorm room - they’d let her stay on while she evaluated her options here at school. But at some point she’d probably have to move down into town and get a proper place there. Maybe even get a car. Her bike had served her well enough until now, for the few times she’d have to descend into the town proper, but if she was doing that commute every day in all kinds of weather she’d probably want more reliable transportation.

  A shower, a change, and she was coasting down the long, long slope through the trees which brought her to civilization. The town of Bennington was quiet and laid back, much like the college on the hill. There were the usual coffee shops, movie theaters, and random supply stores that kept the world running. But it certainly wasn’t as world-renowned as Cambridge or Boston. Her friends in high school hadn’t understood why she’d turned down the offers to go to those more exciting places and instead chose this fairly back-water location to spend the next four years of her life. But, for whatever reason, it had felt right to her. It was comforting and quiet. Restful. And there weren’t as many tourists as back home at Bar Harbor.

  She pulled her bike in to the coffee shop and leaned it against a ridge-barked oak. Then she stepped in.

  The shop was simply decorated, neat and clean, with white metal chairs and gaily painted tables. Sanjeev waited for her at a round in the far corner, a pair of coffees in red porcelain mugs sitting before him. His dark hair was neatly combed, his near-black skin shone in the late morning light, and he wore a black t-shirt with the word “create” emblazoned on front in ivory letters.

  Ginny walked over and slid into the seat opposite. “Hey there.”

  He pushed her coffee toward her. “Thought you might be thirsty after your ride.”

  She took a sip. Black, just the way she liked it. “Thanks. So, what’s up?”

  “How was your yoga session?” he asked, turning his cup around on the table. “Quiet?”

  She nodded. “Except for that frosh puking out her stomach in the bushes. I swear, they get younger every year. Soon they’ll be like toddlers crawling along the path toward their dorm.”

  He gave a wry smile. “Sounds like this one wasn’t too far off from that.”

  She chuckled. “True. She’ll straighten up, though. A few months and she’ll learn how to watch after herself, rather than having her parents tell her what to do.”

  His brow shadowed.

  Ginny put down her mug and leant forward. “What is it, Sanjeev? Are they riding you again?”

  He looked up at her. His dark eyes were deep. “They have a right to, Gin. They paid for my flight over here to the US. Paid for all four years of my college education. I don’t have any loans out at all. They paid my housing, my food, you name it.”

  “You’ve paid for your costs since you graduated,” she pointed out. “You’re not taking anything from them now.”

  “But I still owe them for those four years. I owe them for everything they’ve done for me up to this point. It’s my duty to listen to what they say.”

  Ginny waved a hand. “Sure, listen to them. We should all listen to our parents. But obey them without question? That’s not a relationship with a parent. That’s subjugation to a dictator. Parents are supposed to raise children so the children can become adults. And adults think for themselves. They make decisions that are best for their own lives.”

  “My parents are wise,” murmured Sanjeev. “They have the wisdom of experience. They want to do what is best for me.”

  “You mean they want to do what is best for them,” countered Ginny. “They want you to do what they dream they might have done, at your age. They are trying to live vicariously through you. But you aren’t them. You are you. Your life and your dreams are different. What would make them happy wouldn’t necessarily make you happy.”

  Sanjeev’s shoulders slumped.

  Ginny bit off the rest of her diatribe and took another long drink of her coffee. They’d been through this enough times that both could probably quote the other’s stances by heart. There seemed to be little resolution to it.

  Sanjeev abruptly stood, finishing off his coffee. “C’mon. I want to show you something at the shop.”

  Ginny followed along after him, down the brightly lit street. It was technically autumn now, but it still felt like summer. The breeze was warm and soothing against her skin. Soon those fluttering green leaves would turn to gold and bronze; the harvest festivals and pumpkin pies would appear around every corner. The roads would get jammed with leaf-peepers for a few weeks. And then the long quiet of winter.

  Sanjeev pushed open the door to his pottery studio. Ginny smiled as she looked around. It was like a mad mash-up of an elegant museum and a chaotic construction site. There, on glass shelves to the right, were some of the most spectacular bowls and vases she had ever seen. They shone in cobalt blue, forest green, chocolate brown, and a kaleidoscope of other colors. She could always pick out Sanjeev’s, though. His had a subtleness to them that took her breath away. The very textures drew her in. The delicate counterpoint of a fawn against a lone pine. The shimmering beauty of an egret on a lake’s shore.

  He led her over to the left, where the counters were littered with clay remnants and tools. The work area was pure chaos - all but one area which had been cleared away. Next to a laptop sat a vase.

  Ginny’s eyes widened with appreciative curiosity as she approached. It wasn’t a vase like she’d ever seen before. It was certainly Sanjeev’s style, done in pale tan, rippled with textures, presenting a water motif. She could make out the swirling stream’s currents and the pair of fish - salmon, she’d guess - making their way through it. But where most vases had one opening in the top to hold the flowers, this one had a bulbous base from which rose two separate channels. A carrying handle connected those dual spouts to each other.

  She smiled, looking up at him. “How unusual! What is it, for keeping two bouquets of flowers separate from each other?” A thought came to her, and her mood dimmed. “Is this like us? We might be together, sort of, but we’ll always have to be apart?”

  He shook his head. “Ginny, you know I love you.”

  She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “Yeah, and apparently
sometimes that isn’t enough.”

  His mouth opened -

  The laptop on the counter chimed the familiar blurping noise of Skype. Ginny had certainly heard it enough times in the past four years. It was ubiquitous around Bennington as students stayed in touch with their attentive parents. She’d had plenty of long-night discussions with her father, when things had gotten rough for her. Her mother hadn’t wanted to fiddle with new-fangled technology and had become more distant.

  Sanjeev’s shoulders tensed, but he reached over and hit the answer button.

  The screen lit up with the faces of a middle-aged couple. The image showed dark hair sprinkled with grey. Dark, creased skin. A grey suit and crimson dress. His mother’s make-up was picture-perfect, as always, and his father’s mouth held that slight frown that seemed a part of his personality.

  His mother barely let the screen draw before she began talking. “There you are, Sanjeev. We’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour. Where have you been?”

  He motioned his head toward Ginny. “I’ve been busy.”

  His father’s lips turned down even further. “We need to talk with you alone, Sanjeev.”

  Ginny took a step back. “I need to be heading back anyway -”

  Sanjeev took her by the hand, his eyes on his parents. “Ginny stays. Whatever you want to say to me, you say to us both,”

  His mother let out an exaggerated sigh. “You were always the stubborn one, Sanjeev. Like your father. Fine, maybe it’s just as well that she hear this.” She turned to Ginny. “Ginny, you’re a good girl. Solid. Dependable. Not like those American girls we see on TV gone wacky at spring break. So I know you understand. This isn’t personal. It’s just time for Sanjeev to come home. He’s done with his school years now. It’s time he take his position as a man in our family.”

  Ginny kept her tone even. She knew how important Sanjeev’s family was to him, and she had no desire to make things even worse. “Sanjeev is a part of your family, and he will always be, no matter what choices he makes in life. And as for being a man ...” She let a smile turn up her lips. “He has a college degree. He takes care of himself and pays his own bills. He has friends who depend on him and the respect and admiration of his community. I think he already is a man.”

  His father snapped, “He needs to be home. Here. In New Delhi, where he belongs.”

  Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t your family originally from Vishakhapatnam?”

  His jaw tightened. “What has that to do with anything?”

  She waved a hand. “Just that New Delhi is a place like any other place. It is where one can choose to live. You and Basanti chose New Delhi when you felt it was well suited to the life you wished to lead.” She looked to Sanjeev. “Sanjeev has the same right to choose where he would best flourish.”

  His mother’s eyes hardened. “Sanjeev, you see? An Indian woman would not talk like this. She would understand.”

  Sanjeev gave a low chuckle. “Like your parents understood, when you left them to move with your husband to New Delhi?”

  His mother reddened. “It was my duty as a wife to go where my husband felt was best for us.”

  Sanjeev motioned to Ginny. “And is Ginny not here with me, hundreds of miles from her own home, because it is where we feel we are best suited?”

  His father leant forward. “You need to come home and take your position in our shipping company. I have the management seat waiting for you. You can continue the legacy I’ve built. It is what I’ve always planned.”

  Sanjeev’s neck muscles tensed. “That is the life you wanted to lead. The dream you had for yourself. But it’s not mine. It’s not even remotely what I want for my life.”

  His father’s eyes darkened. “How dare you -”

  Ginny interrupted, “Rudra, you used to love soccer.”

  The father turned on her in confusion. “What?”

  “I remember, one of those times you were skyped in so we could watch the World Cup together. You talked about playing it as a child.”

  He gave a low growl. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Were you any good at it?”

  An easing came to his shoulders, and his chest lifted. “I was good,” he admitted.

  His wife gave him a gentle push. “He is too modest. He was the best in all of Vishakhapatnam. His team won championship after championship because of him.”

  Ginny lifted a brow. “So what happened?”

  His face became set. “Life happened. My father insisted that soccer was not the profession of a respectable man. He made me drop my soccer playing and focus on my business degree.”

  Ginny leant forward. “But imagine, just for one moment, that you had been allowed to play. To play in the World Cup to represent India. To take home the highest honor for India. Imagine if it was your help which won India that trophy.”

  His eyes gleamed, and there was almost a smile on that statue face of his.

  Ginny looked to Basanti. “Imagine you could have traveled with him. Paris. Venice. Rio de Janeiro. London. New York City.”

  Basanti glowed. “I always dreamed of being able to travel.”

  Ginny took Sanjeev’s hand. “We have a chance of doing something special here. Sanjeev is already renowned throughout our region for his artwork. Galleries are asking after him. If he has the time to focus on what he loves, and to master his craft, his works could be housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In the Louvre. In the National Museum of New Delhi. And if you stop him from pursuing his dream, he will never know. He has been given a gift from God and he is good at it. Just as you, Rudra, could have been the one to unite India behind a world-class soccer team. Your chance was stolen from you.” She paused and gave Sanjeev’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t steal that opportunity from your son.”

  Sanjeev spoke up. “We’ll still come to visit you. And with Skype we can talk just as much as we would if we lived locally.” He reached to lift up the vase. “But here is where I feel inspired. And this is what I am inspired to do. Everything in my soul calls me to this.”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “You made that?”

  He nodded, holding it closer to the camera. “The Boston Museum of Fine Arts already expressed an interest in it - they saw a photo of it on our shop’s website. But I told them it’s not available.”

  Her mouth went round. “Why would you not let them have it? That is a great honor!”

  He turned to Ginny with it. “Because I made it for the woman I love with all my heart.”

  Ginny’s throat went tight and she drew on a smile. “You can always make me another one, silly. I don’t mind. You can let them have this.”

  He shook his head. “Every moment I worked on this, every long hour I invested in it, I did it with you in mind. With this moment.”

  He handed it to her.

  Her cheeks flushed. “Do I need to go find some flowers now?”

  He gave a low chuckle. “It’s not a flower vase. It’s a Navajo wedding vase. The couple is supposed to drink out of the two spouts at the same time, both holding the handle. It’s a challenge - but it can be done. It’s meant to illustrate that life is a challenge, but by being together a couple can make it through any obstacles.”

  Her eyes were welling now. “Sanjeev, I don’t know -”

  “Tilt it,” he urged. “See how it might work.”

  She tilted the vase in her hand.

  There was a rattling noise from inside.

  Her brow creased. “There’s something in here ...”

  She put her hand beneath one of the spouts and tilted the vase further.

  A sturdy silver ring, squarish in design, rolled out into her hand. A pair of large diamonds sparked from its face.

  Her mouth fell open.

  Sanjeev lowered himself down onto one knee. “Ginny, I love you. You give me the strength and courage to pursue dreams I never would have thought possible otherwise. You make me believe in myself. All that I have achieved here, I have d
one because of your foundation beneath me.”

  He looked up at her. “Bennington is a long way from Bar Harbor, and it’s even a longer way from New Delhi. But this is where we resonate. This is where we find our voice. Ginny, be my wife and my partner. Together we will find a way through, no matter what the challenges. We will do so with joy, hope, and above all else, love.”

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she found herself nodding. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I love you, Sanjeev.”

  He drew to his feet, his body aglow. He took the ring from her and slipped it on her finger. “You like it? I thought you might not want those traditional gold skinny styles -”

  She drew him into a hug. “I love it. It’s me. It’s perfectly me. And that’s why I love you so much. You get it. You get me. All of me.”

  There was a soft noise from the laptop, and she turned.

  Basanti had a delicate handkerchief to her eyes and was dabbing at them. Even Rudra’s carven face had eased.

  Sanjeev wrapped an arm around Ginny. “Mother, Father, I ask for your blessing for this woman who will soon be a part of our family.”

  His father opened his mouth -

  His mother smiled. “She is good for you, Sanjeev. You have chosen wisely. And we will expect you to visit soon.”

  He nodded. “I have some special pieces I am making for both of you. Once I finish those, we will come for the holidays.”

  His mother looked to Ginny. “Your parents? They won’t mind?”

  Ginny smiled. “My younger sister, Madison, will go keep them company. They’ll be fine. I would love to come along on the trip. Maybe we could even go down to Vishakhapatnam and see where it all began.”

  His mother twined her fingers into his father’s. “That sounds lovely.”

  Ginny turned to look at Sanjeev, at the dark shirt with the ivory create emblazoned across its center. She gave a soft smile. “You really can create magic, you know.”

  He gave a soft smile and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “We make the magic together, my sweet. And that is what love is all about.”