Page 54 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
“You say that like you mean it.”
Even though it’s still chilly out, Beau somehow insulates us. If only the warmth he generates could stave off the inevitable.
“I do,” he says.
“There you go throwing around those two words. Keep it up and you’ll never get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“We haven’t talked about that part yet. When should I plan for us to call it quits? I’d rather deal with my mother and sister—along with the aunt and cousin entourage when I’m back in New York and they’re here.”
“Margo, have you heard anything I’ve said?”
His eyes search mine as if he’ll find the answer there. Then he digs into his pocket and pulls out a little velvet box.
My breath catches. But it’s probably just his coin collection or a hockey ring. Do hockey players get those big chunky rings for winning playoffs or whatever? Actually, I think they get a big cup which is far more practical.
“I wasn’t going to give this to you yet.”
“My payment? I prefer whole bills. Tens and twenties.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment as if he’s having a conversation with someone.
I try to ignore the little box in his big hand and what it really, truly might mean because what if bad things actually happen in fours and this good thing gets taken away from me too?
He says, “I have it on good authority that you are the next step in my life.”
“Right because of your family stipulations or whatever.”
“Please stop talking, Honey Butter. I wasn’t going to do this now, but?—”
He opens the box and pulls out a rose gold vintage ring in a vine design with an oval cut diamond. It sparkles under the lamplight in the park and the moon above.
“This was my grandmother’s. She and my grandfather had a long and happy marriage. They were special people. Important in my life. Both gone too soon. Her personality filled the room. Though rare, it was a real treat when he laughed. I’ve been told I’m a lot like him. They would’ve loved you.”
I lean back slightly even though I know this is a moment to lean in, but I need to study Beau’s face. It’s as inexpressive as always, but his eyes are bright and hold on to mine.
“I’m confused. Are we just getting married for convenience or?—?”
“Or,” he answers.
“Or?” I ask.
“What other reason would we do it?”
“I don’t know, love?”
“You’re not like your mother,” he says.
I balk. “I should hope not.”
He asks, “So why would you get married for any reason other than love ... or the potential for it?”
I search his eyes, wishing he’d spell it out for me because he’s so close to saying what I’ve waited all my life to hear.
“People get married because they care deeply and want to spend the rest of their life with the person,” he says.
“And have a family.”
