It’s not like extra special champagne can spoil the surprise now, right?
It’s a long walk home, and I probably (definitely) shouldn’t have gone so overboard. It’s warm out today, and between that, the weight of the shopping, and the fact that I’m not exactly what you’d call athletically inclined, I need another shower by the time I get back.
I spend some time trying to tame my hair, even though it’s a fairly useless effort. It stands up and out and across in a puffy mess. One of these days, I’ll bother to spend some money—and time—investing in some hair products that might make my hair a little less . . . well.
Just less.
Giving up on my hair, I notice a bruise on my forehead where I fell off the sofa yesterday. That’s going to look great in the selfies I know Charlotte will want to take, I think, grimacing.
I raid the makeup she left behind, experimenting with dabbing on some concealer. I accidentally use some highlighter the first time, though, ending up with a sparkly forehead.
“Maddox, you look like a fucking unicorn,” I mutter at myself in the mirror, turning at an angle to see the bump on my head, now shining in the daylight. I scrub it off and try again, pleased when I’m a little more successful this time—even if it does look a bit orange-y.
I potter around the apartment, but I already tidied and cleaned it up yesterday afternoon. There’s not really anything else to do.
I check on Find My Friends, but Charlotte’s still a while away.
Agitated, I sit on the sofa to play video games, but I can’t even focus on Animal Crossing for more than five minutes. My knees are bouncing and I feel sick with excitement. I go through some of my notifications; the proposal video is still gaining traction.
Charlotte giggled over the phone to me yesterday when I apologized and said I’d take it down. “Don’t be silly! People love it. It’s really cute, Ethan. I don’t mind if you want to leave it up.”
Now, I move to my computer, pulling up the YouTube Studio page, hovering over the trash icon beside the Dear Charlotte video ready to delete it.
I can still hear Charlotte’s giggle echoing in my ears, see the way she grinned up at me from the grass outside.
The only reason I was so devastated the video got out was because it ruined all my (not very) carefully laid proposal plans.
And Charlotte’s right—people do seem to really love it. I’ve noticed, maybe, like, a couple hundred or so trolls or mean comments—which is basically nothing, in the context of the number of views and comments the video has.
I move the mouse away from the Delete button, and turn on my camera instead.
I clear my throat, smooth back my hair, and start talking.
*
“Hey, guys. It’s me—Ethan. Some of you probably don’t know me that well, and have never heard of my channel before, but . . . well, I guess you know me pretty damn well by this point, after watching me lay my soul bare over the girl I love. If you’re new here: thanks! It’s great to have you! I’ll link a couple of my most popular playlists down in the description if you want to check those out, and if you like it, be sure to subscribe and find me on Twitch for more, and you can find a link to my Patreon there, too, if you’d like to help me keep creating.
“But . . . ” I pause here, rubbing the back of my neck and giving an awkward laugh before looking up at the camera again. “I guess I just wanted to address that last video. Obviously, it wasn’t what I was planning to upload yesterday. My girlfriend, Charlotte, got stuck staying with her parents all week because our building was locked down for this whole virus sitch, and in case it wasn’t completely bloody obvious in my video, I really missed her, and I guess that got me thinking about our future and stuff.
“I’m not . . . not good with words, usually, but talking to a camera is something I’m pretty comfortable with.” My hands flap back and forth between me and the screen, as if to demonstrate. “I figured if I sat there and talked at my camera long enough, I’d know what I wanted to say to her when I proposed. Except, obviously, that plan went all to shit, because I accidentally uploaded the wrong video.
And I know some people think it was some kind of publicity stunt, or just a bid to go viral, or whatever, but I can promise you—I was mortified. I was half-asleep—and a little tipsy—when I uploaded the video, and it was a total accident.
“A happy accident, though, because . . . well, I know a lot of you guys are wondering . . .
“She said yes! So, uh, yeah. Thanks for, uh, watching, and for all the well wishes. I really appreciate it, and so does Charlotte. It’s really sweet of you guys. But, hey, that’s it from me for now! And sorry this isn’t my usual kind of video, either, but I figured after the last one, I’d better update you all. And,” I add finally, clasping my hands lightly together, my index fingers pointing together toward the camera while the rest of my fingers fold over each other, “regular programming will resume on my channel from here on out. I don’t expect to turn into a wedding planning channel, but, hey, who am I kidding?
I’ll probably be so damn excited I’ll be telling you guys everything anyway.
“Thanks for watching, I’ve been Ethan Maddox, and you’ve been awesome.”
*
I sit back and hit upload before I can second-guess myself. It’s not even edited to cut out the um s or the long pauses, and the audio and lighting and color grading probably aren’t too great, either, but I can’t bring myself to care in the way I usually do.
It’s really not what I’d normally post, but if I’m going to leave the Dear Charlotte video up (even if just for a little while), I’d better follow up and address it.
Especially since the whole internet is clamouring to know what happened.
I title the video She said yes, and aside from the default message pushing viewers to subscribe, and links to some of my playlists and other social media, I leave the description blank.
Jack messages me within five minutes of the video going live to tell me I’m a sap, and good God that was sickly sweet, and he loves me and he’s waiting for an equally great viral video for me to ask him to be my best man.
I laugh at the text, but now he’s mentioned it that might actually be a really fun idea.
And I mean, obviously, he’s going to be my best man. I’ll bet Charlotte’s already asked Maisie to be her maid of honor. I get a message from Nate a few minutes later too—berating me for “doing too good a job” and setting unrealistic expectations for him, when he finally does find a girl he wants to settle down with. (It makes me wonder how the week with his one-night stand has gone; I’ll have to ask him.)
I do have another video. Maisie’s friend Isla, who lives in Number Fifteen upstairs, recorded the whole thing on her phone yesterday from her balcony. The audio quality isn’t great, and the footage is shaky, but I have it saved on my computer and know I’ll treasure it regardless.
I definitely have no plans to upload that one, though. That’s just for me and Charlotte.
Speaking of . . .
I check Find My Friends again.
She’s only a few minutes away.
I jump back out of my seat, pacing the apartment to burn off my renewed nervous energy. I go out on to the balcony, leaning over it and bouncing on the balls of my feet, watching her little dot move closer and closer on the map, and then finally: