“Then tell me what you want.” I climbed closer, desperate to give him something. “Anything. All you have to do is name it.”
“Okay.” His voice lifted, levity finding him, like he was getting ready to read me his Christmas list. “Okay. I’m going to tell you this stuff, and number one, you can’t laugh at me. And number two, you can’t freak out and force all of it to happen.”
“Okay, tell me.”
He cupped my face with his warm palms and pushed his forehead against mine. “Promise. Promise me telling you all of this won’t make you crazy.”
“I promise. Now get on with it.”
“I want to propose to you when it’s special. I don’t know how. God, I’ve pictured doing it so many ways.” He laughed. “The number of fantasy proposals I’ve had are starting to rival the other fantasies I have with you.”
I giggled. He was cute and the excitement in his voice did make me crazy. He was right. I was going to move heaven and earth to give him everything he wanted. Then I thought, that was kind of perfect. Wasn’t that love? Wanting to be and do and give everything you could to make the other’s wildest dreams come true?
“What else?” I prodded.
“Did you have a bachelorette party? Because I totally want a bachelor party. One last hurrah, you know?” He rocked into me to let me know he was only half kidding.
“I’ll give you one last hurrah.”
“And I think I want one of those couple’s showers where everyone comes over to one house, or we go out to a restaurant, and they all tell us how cute we are and give us presents. Can we register for stuff? I think we can. Micah and Cory didn’t do all that fun shit, but I heard them talking about it. I was like, free shit and a party? Yeah. I’m doing that.”
I was mentally taking notes. The positivity poured from him. No more doubts. No more guilt. No more questioning if this was real.
“And for the wedding, I think I want to do something outside.” His voice was hesitant, but then he added, “I know what you’re thinking and stop. It’ll be different than before. And absolutely, under no circumstances, ever, over my dead body will there be violins.”
What a shame. I loved violins, but I knew what he was referring to.
“I’ll wear a bow tie and you’ll look stunning in a paper sack.” Very funny, Mr. Moore.
“A paper sack?”
I couldn’t help it. My mind wandered to my last wedding dress. Fuck lace. Hell, fuck white. Who was I trying to fool?
“Okay, you can wear a dress. Maybe we could have the wedding somewhere in the middle. Like Oregon maybe? Somewhere where we own the memories. New memories. Somewhere only ours.” He sweetly kissed my cheek.
I liked that idea. I liked all of it. Especially the bow tie.
“And our families and close friends will be there and we’ll say what’s in our hearts. Then we’ll sign papers and you’ll change your name to mine.”
It sounded like a dream. I wanted everything the way he’d painted the picture in my head. The exact way he was describing. I could see it all.
“I’ll take your name.” I turned more to face him and slid my hands around to his back.
“You’re damn right you will. Blake Moore has always sounded good to me.”
Me too.
“Then we’ll dance all night and then … oh, then you’re in for it, Mrs. Moore.” My heart raced and my stomach, for the first time in days, completely relaxed. I was getting my very own fairytale in bed, and the man telling it was my Prince Charming. There was no doubt he’d make all of it come true.
“I’m in for it, huh?” It was evil for me to pry, but I was evil.
“I’m going to take you up to our suite, or to our cabin, or where-the-fuck-ever, and I’m going to knock you up so hard.”
I laughed from deep inside my belly. Laughing like that hurt, but it felt so, so good too.
He chided in a phony-as-hell serious Casey tone, “I’m serious. I’m putting babies right in you.”
“Babies?” Plural? He is a twin.
Wait.
Twins are passed from the mother’s side. Right? I’d have to research that. Before the epic impregnating anyway.
“Well, I’m going to do it all special-like. Wedding-sex style.”
He held me close. My sides screamed, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. My heart felt heavy with joy and love. That was one first I could give him. Actually, if I was counting, that was two. Wedding-sex and babies. I’d never had either.
“Hmm,” I purred, pretending to consider it. I’d need to think about the babies. Well, a little. We’d at least need to have a permanent address decided, but lying there in his arms I was content to live the fantasy.
“What? What’s all this hmm-ing? Where’d I lose ya?”
My head found the crook of his neck. He smelled so inviting. Like home.
“You didn’t lose me.”
“I hope I never do, honeybee.”
We rested there that night curled up into one another and I thought—really thought—about vows. His arms wrapped around me. Both of our heads lying on one pillow. I’d be happy to be his to have and hold.
Forever.
Monday, June 14, 2010
THE LUXURY OF HAVING her there to hold all night was one I wouldn’t take for granted. She was mine.
My Betty. My honeybee. My Blake.
I was hers. So fucking hers. I skated the thin line of being whipped. Whipped. What a joke. How many times had I given dudes shit for “being whipped?” I’d need to apologize, because whipped was the best place on earth. I bet Snapple was made in Whippedville.
It was those types of thoughts—the happy ones, the excited ones—that diverted my otherwise livid mind.
She was home and safe and, most importantly, with me. Those were the other facts that quelled the rage I’d been feeling. Every wince. Every time she stared off into space. Every flinch. Every fucking time she said she didn’t remember felt like a hammer to the side of my head. I saw red more in those quiet days than I ever had before. More than when she married the bastard. Even more than when she was in the hospital. Having her healthy and safe allowed my mind to wander.
That motherfucker would pay. I wasn’t sure how, but he would. I’d told her about the fantasies I had of our future, but I didn’t tell her any of the things I’d come up with to quench my thirst for revenge. Not even my revenge. It belonged to her.
I knew there was little I could do and that probably added to the helpless feeling of wanting justice I may never get. She claimed she couldn’t remember, but I knew there were at least some things she did. I could read her.
It made me sick. It physically hurt thinking about that night.
Her sleeping, tear-stained face. The blood.
Holding in that kind of anger, for me—hell, for anyone—wasn’t healthy, but I had to think about what was best for her. Blake not talking was much different than her lying about it. I understood her reasons.
I think everyone suspected there were details she was hiding, but she wasn’t hiding them from us. It wasn’t about us. She was shielding herself from that night until she was strong enough to sort through the details.