Page 146 of The One I Hate
“You’re right. Too much work.” I turn back to the presentation to see where I left off. “Anyway, I started thinking about what I needed to apologize for, because there are multiple things. And I didn’t want to forget any, so I started writing them down. Before I knew it, I was jotting down ways to have her forgive me and all the things I could do for the rest of our lives to make up for it. Before I knew it, I was putting it into presentation form.”
“I’m impressed,” Oliver says. “But why do you need us?”
“You’ll see,” I say as I switch slides. “For starters, here are all the things I did that could be, and probably are, things I didn’t tell her I did since she came back into my life. Most of them having to do with the diner.”
“Holy shit, that’s a long list,” Wes says as he scooches forward on the couch, I’m guessing to see better.
“I didn’t know about the apartment,” Shane says.
“Oh, yes. Part of his grand ‘make sure she takes the restaurant’ plan,” Emmett says. “You forgot to put on there that you had it furnished before she arrived.”
“Thanks,” I say, making a note in my phone to add that.
“You fixed a leaky ceiling? Like with your hands?”
Emmett answers this one too. “No, he paid plumbers a shit-ton of money to fix it in a matter of hours. I had to burn a favor I wanted to hold onto.”
“Oh,” Wes says. “That makes more sense.”
“Why are mushrooms on there? Is that code for something?”
“Not important.” I say. “These offenses give you all the scope of all the things I’m apologizing for.”
I switch the slide, which features a picture of me hugging Charlie at her opening. “I wanted to share these all with you to show you that everything I did was, yes, in secret and without knowledge, but none were harmful or nefarious. They were all out of love. Just, my brand of love.”
“You still lied,” Shane said. “And don’t give me the bullshit about it was just an omission of truth.”
“Wasn’t going to,” I say. “I know I fucked up. This isn’t a get-together for y’all to convince me that I was in the wrong.”
“Then whyarewe here?”
“Because I need y’all to help me fix it.”
I switch to the next slide, aptly titled “I done fucked up. Help.”
“You’re an idiot,” Shane mutters.
“For once, I’m not going to argue,” I say, turning to the next slide. “Here are some of the ideas I have for her to forgive me.”
The guys read the list, which features such ideas as rent a plane to fly around town with a banner asking her forgiveness and good old-fashioned begging. That one comes with a lifetime promise for poopy diaper changes, foot rubs, and I’ll even open the diner three days a week.
Yup. I’d get up at five in the morning. That’s how sorry I am.
“Could you really hire a skywriter?” Oliver asks.
“I know a guy.”
“Why isn’t just talking to her on there?” Wes asks. “I feel like that should be the winner.”
“Because it’s not a grand gesture,” I say. “Plus, what would I say?”
“That you’re an idiot.”
“That you fucked up.”
“That you want to apologize.”
“That you want to propose to her.”
