Page 26 of Give My Everything
There’s a momentary pause where we just look at each other before I continue.
“So, I spent some time earlier putting together a list of things we need to take into consideration,” I say, opening the notebook I have on the coffee table. “We’ve already gotten through the biggest hump, our first time being seen in public together. That should be enough to get the tongues wagging around town.”
Remmy giggles.
“Now we just have to make sure the information spreads at a normal pace. We should schedule out some date nights, decide when you’ll be moving in, set an actual engagement date, and then talk about when we would get married because—”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re moving too fast,” she interrupts. “Back up. Did you say…a date for me to move in?”
I let a beat of time pass before answering, feeling like this is going to be a big conversation. “Well, it would only be natural for my beloved fiancée to move in with me.”
“No. It would not be natural—not in my family.”
I’m sure my confusion is evident on my face.
“How are we supposed to be married and not live together?” I ask, quite unnecessarily, I think.
“I’m not suggesting wenevermove in together. I just think you have the order of events wrong. First of all, I know you zero percent. I’m not moving in with you yet. We need to give it some time before we even start talking about something like that.”
I bite back the urge to roll my eyes. “Obviously we wouldn’t move you in today. That would look suspicious to your family.”
“But most importantly,” she continues, “there’s no way my family would let me just up and move in with you without putting you through your paces.”
I don’t like the way she looks so pleased with herself at that statement, like she’s going to enjoy whatever ‘putting you through your paces’ means.
“And that involves…what exactly?”
“I might be the rebel of the family, but myverytraditional parents would drag me home by my hair if I tried to move in with you before you’ve even asked them to marry me.”
I bark out a laugh, sure she must be joking. “Say what now?”
She does that thing again, pushing her shoulders back and raising her chin. “It might be fine that my family knows we’re ‘dating’,” she says, giving the word air quotes, “but my dad will want you to go talk to him about getting engaged, get his permission before you ask me.”
My mouth opens wide and my eyebrows about fly off my face at her statement.
It takes a minute for me to form a response—any kind of response. I don’t know why, but I’m having a visceral reaction to this idea, my whole body revolting at the notion.
Eventually, I manage to get my thoughts together and sit forward on the couch cushion, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Remmy, it’s archaic. I’m not asking for your dad’spermission.”
She twists her lips. “Ben, it’s just a tradition in Colombian families.”
“I’m not asking any man for permission. The only permission I need isyours. The only thing that matters is thatyousay it’s okay.”
Something shuts off in Remmy’s face when I say that. I’m not sure exactly what happens, but it looks like she short-circuits. She blinks a bunch and her lips purse, her eyes darting all over the room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering what’s going on.
It takes a second for her to respond, but when she does, something tightens in my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispers, whatever flash of irritation she felt a moment ago passing by.
I sit silent, wondering what I’m missing. Does she want me to ask her dad or doesn’t she?
She clears her throat, her eyes still tracking around the room as she avoids my gaze.
“I’ve always thought my eventual husband would ask my dad for his permission,” she says. “But maybe that’s the wrong word. You’re right, I should be the only person you ask. I know our marriage isn’t going to be real, but it would mean a lot to me if you could ask him…for his blessing.”
