To Pratt, I’d always be Annie. I didn’t bother me or Braxton to hear him say it. It made Hap angry, though.
“Good,” I replied. “Just finishing dinner.”
He glanced at the pan of lasagna. “Smells good.”
“Want me to fix you a plate?”
“He can fix his own,” Hap barked. He glanced at Pratt. “How’s it going, Prott?”
Pratt sauntered toward the kitchen island. “Go to hell, Old Man.” He glanced over his shoulder as he passed the table. “Evening, Marge.”
“Good evening, Gordon.”
Pratt fixed a plate and meandered to the other side of the table. “I like your top, Marge,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Purple’s my favorite color.”
Marge was wearing a pair of green pants, white open-toed sandals, and a purple short-sleeved top. As always, she looked adorable.
She adjusted herself in her seat and offered Pratt a grin. “Thank you, Gordon.”
“Lasagna’s good as fuck, Annie,” Pratt muttered.
“Gordon Pratt!” Marge hissed. “Not at the dinner table, please.”
Pratt lowered his head in shame. “Sorry, Marge.”
We finished our dinner, discussing the changes we’d seen, the changes we expected to see as everyone implemented the new recommendations from the Center for Disease Control, and what we hoped the future held.
When everyone was done, Pratt and Braxton went to the garage while Marge and I served the tiramisu.
“I’ll go get the dipshits,” Hap said, leaning over my shoulder to get a look at the size of ice cream he was being served. “Give me one more scoop, just like that one.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You’ll have to run an extra mile.”
“It’ll be worth it,” he said. “This is a special night.”
“Is it?”
“Last Sunday dinner,” he said, looking around the room. “Here, anyway.”
I gave him another scoop of ice cream. The other bowls seemed lop-sided. After deciding everyone needed 2 scoops of ice cream, Marge and I carried the bowls to the table.
When the men returned, everyone took their seats. Everyone except Braxton, that is. He paced the floor to my immediate right, like a nervous cat.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “You’ve been a wreck all night. Sit down and eat your ice cream before it melts.”
“I’ve got something I need to say.”
I poked a forkful of tiramisu into my mouth. “Say it after you eat.”
“If I wait, I’ll puke.”
“Did the lasagna upset your stomach?”
“No, it’s—”
I looked him over. “What then?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Hap snarled. “Let the man speak.”
“Hap Rourke!” Marge snapped. “Of all times.”
“Well, he’s doing his best,” Hap retorted. “And she’s trying to shove goddamned ice cream down his throat.”
“Take a drink of wine,” Pratt offered. “Alcohol always calms my nerves.”
Braxton gulped his wine. Holding the empty glass, he stroked his beard with the web of his free hand.
He set the glass down at the end of the table. “The day I woke up from being sick, I realized something. I knew I didn’t want to die living my life in the manner I’d been living it. I wanted—I needed—to make some changes.”
He glanced at each of us.
“Work had lost its importance,” he continued. “Living alone no longer had its appeal. There was someone I’d developed feelings for, but I’d disappointed her so greatly that I wondered if she’d forgive me. I took a chance and apologized, later asking if she’d consider being my lover. She—”
I alternated glances between Marge, Hap, and Pratt. “That’s not exactly how it happened.”
Hap’s jaw tensed. “Let. The. Man. Speak.”
Braxton grabbed his stomach. “I’m going to throw up.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Hap barked, jumping from his seat. He rushed to Braxton’s side. He draped his arm over Braxton’s shoulder. “Suck it up, Son.”
Braxton swallowed heavily. He swallowed again. After wiping his brow, he drew a long breath.
Hap released him.
Braxton stepped to my side. “My life’s better than it was, but I still see it as an incomplete mess. The only thing that will make it complete is if you’ll commit to take the rest of this journey with me.” He looked me in the eyes. “Anna, I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but whatever I do, I want to do it with you.”
“I love you,” I said.
“Anna, will you take this journey with me?” He reached for my hand. “As my wife?”
I was speechless. His words took me by complete surprise. I thought he was giving some wordy drunken speech. I wasn’t expecting a proposal, at all.
I swallowed heavily.
My mind was screaming yes, but I couldn’t formulate a response.
Hap cleared his throat. “Ring, Dipshit! Give her the goddamned ring.”
“Hap Rourke!” Marge barked.
Braxton reached into his pocket and presented a gorgeous diamond ring. “Will you?” he asked. “Marry me?”
“Yes,” I said pridefully. “I will.”
My journey to find the man of my dreams wasn’t simple. I didn’t want simple. Settling for simple made me cry when I was a teen. Simple prevented me from marrying early in life. Simple got me a divorce.
Peeling away Braxton’s layers took time, effort, and courage. What was beneath, however, was well worth the effort.
One by one, they gave congratulations and ogled the ring. It seemed everyone knew about the event except for me.
As we ate our melted ice cream and tiramisu, I took a moment and looked around. With Hap’s shouting, Braxton nearly barfing, and my inability to understand what was happening, the proposal was an absolute shit show.
When I searched my mind for the events that got me there, I realized the journey was a shit show, too. Nevertheless, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Life was never perfect. If anyone knew that, it was the five of us.
A family of five.
By choice.
“Anna Rourke, line one,” Karen said over the intercom. “Anna Rourke, you have an international call on line one.”
On my way to lock the front doors and call it another successful day, I turned toward my office. The 60-second trek took 5 minutes.
Winded, I answered the phone. “Anna Rourke.”
“Mrs. Rourke, this is Karl Koser in Madrid. I purchased the Enzo Ferrari last week. Sorry to call so late on a Saturday, but I’d like to speak to you regarding shipping. Have you a moment?”
He’d purchased a Ferrari for $2,300,000. I’d take whatever time I needed to satisfy him. I gave a nod although I knew he couldn’t see it. “Sure.”
“Is it possible to have a container devoted to the vehicle?” he asked. “The thought of shipping it alongside others makes me cringe.”
“It was my understanding you were arranging the shipping,” I replied. “Is that not the—”