Page 57 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“You’re pretentious. And silly.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Mike circles the sculpture before stopping to stand next to me once more. “Stacey is Monique’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I notice how the shadow of the sculpture is rose-colored on the opposite wall.
“Soon-to-be fiancée, I hope,” Mike adds.
When Monique returns, beaming, he says, “Have you asked her?”
“No sign of your sonnets anywhere.”
“I’m talking about holy matrimony.”
Monique bites her lip before playfully ribbing Mike. “Dog, why do you think I’m here? You’re the one who reads Shakespeare. You’re going to tell me how to do this.”
“What?” Mike scoffs. “I can’t do that.”
“Bea, you know Mike. Tell him he has to help me.”
Mike strolls over to another prism sculpture. “Just because I study the Bard does not mean I have any practical advice when it comes to declarations of love.”
“How long have you and Stacey been together?” I ask.
Monique sighs. “We met freshman year but didn’t start dating until this spring.”
“And you know she’s the one?”
“Yes!” She pulls out her phone, and when she shows me a picture of the two of them, I realize I’ve met her Stacey. She’s Adam’s Fem Fantastic at the escape room.
Monique gently brushes her thumb over the image. “I still feel butterflies whenever we hold hands or even when I get a text from her. I can’t imagine life without her. I want us to be those two grandmas cheering for our grandbabies at soccer games on Saturday. Traveling the world together. Making pasta on Christmas Eve. I want to wake up every morning beside her and tell her she makes this world a better place just by being in it.”
I feel my eyes prick. “Tell her that. All those beautiful details. You’d have to be a prickly, insufferable shrew not to melt at those words.”
“What Bea said. And buy a pretty ring,” Mike adds.
“Can’t you write me a sonnet or something?” Monique whines.
“No.” Mike holds open the door, and we walk out to the public gardens. “But if you want to borrow a deck and bring your own bottle of champagne, I maybe could have something ready in a month or two.”
“Oh my gosh. I’d love that. Have you seen his place?” Monique gushes.
“As a matter of fact…”
“It’s magical. Everywhere you turn there’s something new to discover. All those different elevation changes.”
Mike groans. “None of which are ADA-compliant.”
“Stop. It’s a treasure. I feel your grandma’s energy every time I’m there.” Monique checks her phone. “Okay, we have time to snap a few pictures by the Kusama pumpkin before our reservation at Sugar and Scribe. You are coming too, Bea.”
What? “Oh, no, I, wouldn’t dream of crashing your lunch.”
“But I already changed the reservation to a party of three. Come on, Bea. It’s a two-step tradition. Step one, art. Step two, carbs.”
Monique has to move her car—parking in La Jolla is a bit ridiculous—but waves us on ahead. That’s how I wind up walking with Mike in debilitating silence the four blocks to the restaurant.
“Say something,” I demand.
