Just Watch the Fireworks

by Monica Alexander

  “What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly yanked back into the present where Ryan was down on one knee in front of me.

  He smirked at me. “Proposing,” he said as if it was the simplest gesture.

  Good fucking Christ. Summer was right, was the first though that flitted into my head in that moment.

  My heart started to pound in my chest, and the blood rushed to my head, pulsing in my ears. I strained to hear what he was saying. I’m sure he was saying all the things that he thought I wanted to hear, but I couldn’t hear a word. My brain was beyond cloudy.

  “Marry me,” I finally heard him say, loud and clear as if his words had succeeded in slapping me awake.

  When I didn’t say anything in response, he looked at me, took my hand in his and kissed it. I watched him lift my hand to his lips, fighting the urge to yank it away, climb over the back of the bench and flee.

  “Please,” he said then, his dark blue eyes reflecting the light from the streetlamp overhead as they searched mine for some indication that I wouldn’t let him down – that I wouldn’t break his heart.

  Hearing the urgency in his voice I saw the proposal ending two ways. One I could say no, which was what I was thinking because regardless of how much I loved Ryan, marriage freaked me the hell out. But, no meant breaking someone else’s heart, and I definitely didn’t want to do that. No meant that he would probably break up with me, and I didn’t want that either.

  The other option was to say yes, get engaged, hide the fact that I was about to vomit and figure everything else out later. I reasoned that I loved Ryan. I had no plans to break up with him or to date anyone else. He was kind and loving and he loved me. He wanted to marry me.

  Man, that would piss his parents off. I wondered if they knew what he was doing in that moment. Had he told them he was going to propose or would it be a surprise over Sunday brunch at the country club? The look on his mother’s face would be priceless.

  That is not a reason to say yes! Say yes, because you love him.

  As I waged an internal war with myself, I rationalized that if I said yes, we would just be engaged. There were no jurisdictions on how long a couple had to be engaged. We could wait years before having to get married. The only difference in my life if I said yes at that moment would be a ring on my finger. It wouldn’t change anything. Then again, I didn’t even see a ring, so maybe we’d just skip that step. No ring needed. I could just pretend things were the way they always had been. No harm, no foul. It’s not like we needed to register for china the next day or put an announcement in The Globe. We could get engaged and still be us. Nothing would have to change.

  “Yes,” I said, surprising myself.

  One simple word that caused Ryan’s face to break into huge goofy grin as he stood up, pulled me up to standing, wrapped his arms around me and swung me around screaming, “She said yes!”

  Thankfully there was no one nearby to hear. That would have been really embarrassing.

  Finally, he set me on the ground, and just when I thought we might start walking again, he reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out a box.

  Okay, so there was a ring.

  My heart started to pound again. And, okay, now I know I said that marriage scared me and I didn’t think about my wedding, and that is all one hundred percent true, but I wouldn’t be a sane red-blooded American woman if I didn’t get excited about the prospect of beautiful jewelry. I never saw the ring my ex bought for me. I never opened the box.

  It’s just a ring. It’s just a ring, I thought as I rationalized that Ryan had bought me jewelry many times before.

  As Ryan slowly opened the top of the black velvet box, I caught my first glimpse of the ring he’d chosen for me, and I had to blink a few times. The streetlight overhead bounced off the ring, temporarily blinding me, and that is no joke. When I say it was big, it was big.

  It’s just a ring.

  I swallowed my fear as I held up my hand for Ryan to slide the sparkling four carat cushion cut solitaire onto my ring finger, and suddenly, I was officially engaged.

  It’s just a ring. Nothing will change.

  Nothing will change.

  Nothing will change.

  Three

  My alarm sounded at five the next morning. I groaned and rolled over, trying to find it on the nightstand without opening my eyes. It didn’t work. I finally opened one eye, but the alarm clock wasn’t there. It took me a few seconds to remember that Ryan was next to me and the alarm clock was on his side of the bed. He was still dead asleep. I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

  “Oww! What the hell?” he said, coming out of a deep sleep.

  “Your alarm’s going off,” I mumbled into my pillow.

  “What? Oh.”

  Mercifully, he silenced the buzzing once he finally realized the blaring noise wasn’t just in his head. I felt him lean over and kiss my temple, the only part of my head that wasn’t buried under the comforter, which was his way of saying he was sorry.

  “Good morning, grumpy girl,” he said, before I felt him swing his legs to the floor and stand up.

  I grunted in response, as I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to let sleep wash over me again.

  “You shouldn’t be that mean to your fiancé the morning after you get engaged. It’s probably bad luck,” he teased.

  I rolled over in his direction, opened my eyes and looked at him. He was grinning like a fool. I forced a smiled onto my face and said, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

  Right there, in that moment, as we smiled together, was when I started faking my engagement. When he called me his fiancé, I think I had a small heart attack, but thankfully, my acting skills prevailed, and I looked as happy as he did. I felt guilty for a minute before I rationalized that it was just like all those times I’d faked orgasms with him. As far as he knew, I got off every time, and that made him happy. It made him satisfied. It made him feel like more of a man. And if a little faking kept him feeling that way, I figured, no harm, no foul.

  If Ryan was happy because I was excited to be a future bride, then excited I would be. There was no need for him to know I panicked every time I thought about having to try on wedding dresses. Besides, it would be years before I’d have to do that, and by then, I probably would be excited to get married. It just wasn’t the right time.

  He leaned over and kissed me. “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, as I closed my eyes again. The last thing I remembered was hearing him turn on the water in the shower.

  The next time I woke up, the sun was streaming in the windows. I looked at the clock. It was eight-thirty. Now, that was a much more respectable time to be up and out of bed. I lay there for a few minutes, trying to motivate myself to get dressed and go for a run. I knew that once I took my first step, I would instantly wake up, but I had to get there first.

  When it came to exercise, there was nothing that I loved more than feeling my feet pound the pavement while I listened to my iPod and let the world slip away. Running always gave me the energy I needed to get through the day and made me feel alive. I had tried other forms of exercise but always came back to running. Summer loved spinning classes, so I had gone with her a few times, but found the whole experience to be overly stressful. I did not appreciate the instructor barking orders at us as we sweated and grunted. Not fun. I had also tried out yoga with Kate, but it wasn’t for me. Yoga required way more coordination that I possessed.

  Working myself into a slightly motivated state, I got out of bed, pulled on workout clothes and scraped my hair back into a ponytail. By the time I hit the Esplanade, with The Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring in my ears, I hit my stride.

  By the time I got back from my run, the temperature had risen to almost sixty-five degrees. I peeled off my sweatshirt, as I walked into our building. It was good that it was getting warmer outside. I had grown tired of layering up every time I went running. I longed for the days where I could wear just shorts and a tank top.


  As soon as I walked into the apartment, Gryffin ran over to me and proceeded to lick my bare ankle. I looked down at him in disbelief.

  “You’re a weird little dog,” I said, as I picked him up and carried him to the living room.

  He was squirming within a few seconds, so I set him down again. As soon as his paws hit the hardwood floor, he scrambled to get his footing before bolting for his bed in the corner. When he finally reached it, he collapsed in a heap, as if he’d just run the five miles with me. I shook my head and laughed at him.

  “You’re dog is bizarre,” Summer said, not looking up from where she was standing in the kitchen eating a bowl of oatmeal and simultaneously drawing on her sketchpad.

  I watched her for a few seconds as she mindlessly dipped her spoon into the oatmeal and lifted it to her mouth, never once looking at it. She was so intent on her sketching that I don’t think she could have told me what flavor the oatmeal was if I’d asked.

  “That’s why I love him,” I said, taking off my shoes and shoving them under one of the barstools.

  Summer and I had lived together for four years during undergrad, but I’d lived alone during grad school after she’d moved to Boston. I’d gotten Gryffin after she’d moved out because the silence of living alone sucked, and he was a good companion, quirks and all. She was still getting used to having a dog.

  “Did you have a good run?” Summer asked, finally looking up from her sketchpad.

  “Yeah,” I said, mopping my forehead with my sweatshirt. “It was great. I think it’s going to be a really nice day today.”

  I walked past her, reaching for a glass and filling it with water. As I gulped it down, I caught a glimpse of the clock and saw that it was close to nine. I had to be at work in an hour. I had a meeting with my July bride, Lauren something-or-other. Or maybe it was Morgan. I’d have to check before she walked through the door and I called her by the wrong name.

  “Oh yeah,” Summer said, leaning forward so she could see out the window before looking back down at her sketchpad. I could see the wheels turning as designs for sundresses, shorts and bikinis danced around in her head.

  Summer was a clothing designer – well, an aspiring designer. Her official job was owner of a small boutique on Newbury Street called Elle. After she’d graduated from UMass, she had opened the store in partnership with her dad, but since he had the fashion sense of a toothpick, he was more of a silent partner. I knew she loved her store, but her true passion was design, and she spent most of her free time sketching. It seemed that inspiration struck her at the most random times, mostly when her sketchpad wasn’t nearby.

  In the two weeks that we’d lived together, I found a sketch of a dress on a square of toilet paper next to the sink. Based on the toothpaste stain, she had been brushing her teeth when the idea popped into her head. When I was throwing out the Sunday paper, I’d noticed a pair of jeans doodled over the editorial section. The grocery list on the refrigerator showcased two tops, one of which I hoped she would make so I could borrow it. After noticing these sorts of doodles on so many surfaces, it almost became like a scavenger hunt for me. Flipping through the latest Us Weekly I’d find a dress that a celebrity was already wearing modified with Summer’s imagined improvements. Reaching for a napkin I’d see that she’d drawn a line of accessories. It was great fun. So much so that I started cutting out her doodles and posting them on a corkboard in the front hall. It was my own piece of growing artwork for our new place.

  “What are you drawing?” I asked, leaning over her shoulder.

  She immediately responded by covering the sketchpad with her hands, but it was too late. I could already see the lace around the bottom of the floor-length ball gown. I reached over to pry her fingers away so I could see the latest wedding dress she’d designed for herself in the hopes that if you design it, he will propose.

  It was really too bad she didn’t have my luck. I couldn’t stop people from proposing to me. Okay, that was mean.

  “No,” she said, trying to elbow me away.

  She didn’t have much luck. I had a good four inches on her, so my leverage was that much greater.

  “Courtney, seriously, don’t look— what is that?!” she suddenly yelled, her eyes bugging out of her head. She lost all interest in keeping the sketchbook away from me as she grabbed my left hand and yanked it up. Her eyes flew to mine in wide-eyed jubilation. “Oh my God! You’re engaged?!”

  I realized that she’d seen my ring. I had forgotten it was even there. That was probably not a good sign.

  When I didn’t respond, she kept the exclamations coming. “Ryan proposed!” she screamed, jumping up and down, my hand being yanked up and down with her. “Oh my God!

  “I’m engaged,” I said, when she finally stopped jumping and gave me my hand back. I urged excitement into my voice, my smile stretching out unnaturally like Miranda on Sex and the City when she faked her sonogram.

  Summer drew her eyebrows together, looking at me curiously. “What is that exactly?” she asked. “Is that you’re excited face? Because if it is, it needs some work.”

  I let my face fall back to normal. This could get exhausting. I looked at her helplessly. She folded her arms across her chest, tapping her foot, not unlike my mother did when she was exasperated with me.

  “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. Her clear blue eyes were flashing.

  “I’m engaged,” I said flatly. “Were you not listening?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are crazy,” she said, poking her index finger into my chest, hard.

  I raised my eyebrows, challenging her to continue. She didn’t, but she also didn’t move her finger.

  “I’m not crazy,” I said, taking her hand and moving it to the counter. “I was just blind-sided and am not used to being – engaged. It might take me a few weeks to adjust to the idea.”

  I’d decided in that moment that that might be my problem. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to be engaged. I didn’t want to get married. So taking the step before marriage wasn’t that bad, but I still wasn’t about to go around waving my left hand and shouting to the rooftops that I was engaged.

  Summer raised her eyebrows. “Weeks?” she deadpanned in disbelief.

  Apparently waving my left hand around was what I should have been doing. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

  “You should be happy now!” she admonished me. “The guy you love – you do love him right?”

  I gave her my trademark exasperated look. “You know I do.”

  “Good,” she said firmly. “So, the guy you love, who you have no intention of breaking up with, right?” I nodded. “He asked you spend the rest of your life with him. What is the problem?!”

  “I have no idea,” I said, knowing I could never make her understand.

  Just her words ‘spend the rest of your life with him’ had my heart picking up speed. She just didn’t get it.

  “I need to get in the shower,” I said, as I moved past her toward the bathroom.

  “Does Ryan know you feel this way?” she called after me.

  “No, and don’t you dare say anything,” I said, sticking my head out the bathroom doorway.

  “At least you didn’t say no,” she said softly, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

  Before I could say anything I would regret, I closed the door and turned on the water as hot as it would go.

  Four

  I walked into work thirty minutes late, apologizing to Kate who no doubt had to entertain my waiting bride, whose name turned out to be Lauren Morgan. At least I was half right.

  Kate looked up as I stormed into the office, dropping my bag by the front door as I crossed the floor to Lauren Morgan who was gesturing wildly to Kate. I caught the words ‘amazing hotel’ and ‘Rome’, so I knew she wasn’t upset. Kate, on the other hand, looked ready to throttle me. I knew she had an appointment with one of our videographers, and due to my
tardiness, she was now running late.

  “Hi sweetie,” I said, hugging her. “Thanks for covering for me. I have a good excuse, I promise. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.” I whispered that last part in her ear.

  “You’d better,” she said into my ear before she broke the hug, said goodbye to Lauren and headed out the door to her appointment. “I’ll be back around noon.”

  “We’ll be here,” I called back to her before I turned to the overly-excited Lauren Morgan, ready to review the final details of her upcoming nuptials.

  ***

  “So I’ll be sure to confirm that the horse and carriage will pick you up at the church, follow the freedom trail and end up at the Four Seasons,” I said. “When we initially booked them, they said it shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll make sure it’s all set for you.”

  Lauren nodded her blond head rapidly. “That would be so great! My fiancé is a huge history geek, so he’ll think this is just the coolest. I’m so excited to surprise him.”

  As soon as she said that, my heart started pounding in my chest. I once knew a guy who was a huge history geek too. I discreetly glanced down at her folder to check the name of her fiancé and let out a huge breath when I realized it was a different geek than the one I knew. I smiled at Lauren’s exuberance and wondered when that look would be on my face as I talked about my own wedding plans. All morning Summer’s words had plagued me, and I’d really started to wonder what was wrong with me.

  “Knock, knock,” Summer said, as she walked through the door to our office.

  Speak of the devil.

  I looked up. “Hey Sum,” I said, before introducing her to Lauren who was pulling together her things to leave.

  Summer strolled across the hardwood floor in her four inch heels, her wide-leg white pants skimming the floor and her long chestnut hair spilling over her bare shoulders. She looked like a walking ad for Bloomingdales.

  “You ready?” she asked, as the door closed behind Lauren. “Genevieve’s watching the store, so I’m good for an hour. Kate’s meeting us at Rebecca’s Cafe. She texted me a few minutes ago.”