Page 67 of All of Me

Yeah, you don’t need fireworks and a fucking flash mob. Or whatever it is that you’re stressing about.

Me:

I’m not planning on a marching band. Although I bet Callie would actually love that now that you mention it…

Luke:

This one time…

Vince:

At Band Camp…

Luke:

I stuck a flute in my

Will:

You two are assholes.

I roll my eyes and my hand automatically reaches for my pocket again. Right, I already put the ring box away. Instead, I grab the Zippo lighter sitting on the counter and start flipping it open and closed, the metallic click breaking the silence. The motion is mindless, but it gives my restless hands something to do. The anxiety isn’t in the box, it’s in me, and no amount of fidgeting seems to shake it loose.

Me:

I just want it to be perfect, ya know? She deserves perfect. She is perfect.

Vince:

Callie doesn’t care about perfect. She cares about you.

Luke:

Heather is going to freak out when she hears and probably start insisting that we have a joint wedding.

Me:

Are you ready for that?

Vince:

Not a chance.

Luke:

I flick the lighter open and closed, the rhythmic click-click filling the silence as my leg bounces under the table. Outside the window, Sara’s plastic kitchen sits next to the swingset, her little pots and pans still scattered across the grass from yesterday. I stare at them for a moment, trying to picture Callie’s face when I propose, but the image keeps breaking apart, splintering under the weight of my doubts. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I freeze? The lighter’s metal grows warm from being in my hand, but I keep flipping it, the motion grounding me even as my thoughts spiral.

Will:

Just focus on what feels right. You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.

Me:

What feels right is having this ring in my pocket and not knowing what the hell to do with it.

Vince:

Why don’t you ask her kids to help? Ruby and Sara adore you.

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