Page 10 of Valentine's Day Proposal

“They make dairy-free ice cream, dumbass.” Her snarky tone and biting remark irritated me. She was living in my house rent free and getting paid a year’s salary to do it, all while working and having her own income. She didn’t need to be hateful. But maybe I deserved a bit of that.

“Look, Willow, we can’t be at each other’s throats constantly. We have to do this for a year. Can we try to make peace? It’s been six days and you’ve barely said a word to me, forced me to sleep on the couch, used all the hot water every morning, and didn’t even bother turning the coffee pot on before you left the house.”

“What you want a real wifey? Is that it?” She took a bite of ice cream and shoved it into her mouth, raising an eyebrow as she narrowed her eyes at me.

“What I’m saying is we can be respectful.” I sighed. Was every conversation going to be this hostile? I’d have had a better chance with sharing my news if I had just ripped the bandage off.

“Was forcing your brand-new wife to sleep on the couch respectful?”

“You’re still butt hurt over that?” I stood, angry. I was the one who had slept on the couch after she locked me out without even so much as a blanket. She had no right to still be angry.

Willow bounced her foot, spooning more ice cream into her mouth. She avoided eye contact, but the glower on her face didn’t fade a bit. This had way more to do with our history than that damn night where I told her to sleep on the couch. She had essentially claimed my bed as her own now; she should have gotten over it. When she didn’t answer back, I fired off my news.

“Listen, you have trashy photos of me on your Facebook page. They’re from a long time ago, but someone went through all the trouble to dig them up. You have to take them down. Peter says they’re damning, and they will hurt me in the polls.” Antsy, I started pacing in front of the fireplace. If things continued like this, I’d have to replace my carpet in less than a year because I was going to wear it thin.

“What? No. Those are my memories.” She stuffed the spoon into the ice cream and set it on the coffee table with no coaster. So, I scowled at her and grabbed the coaster off the end table to save my wood. She leaned back when I picked up her pint and placed it on the coaster, then returned to pacing, pulling out my phone.

“Well, this one is really damning. I want it taken down. And any of them that make me appear like I’m drunk, stoned, out of control in any way.” I flicked through the images Peter gave me and threw my phone onto the couch, then raked a hand through my hair. It wasn’t easy even being in the same room with her, and now I had to play the part of controller.

Willow picked up the phone and scrolled through a few pictures. I thought she’d be angry and tell me off, but she started crying. And not just any soft tears, a deep mournful cry that left her doubled over on my couch. She set the phone down and picked up the ice cream, retreating to the bedroom without another word. I felt like I was on a fucking yoyo.

I picked up my phone and followed her into the bedroom and stood in the doorway as she sat at the foot of the bed stuffing herself with ice cream as salty tears dripped down her face. It didn’t make any sense why she was so emotional about the goddamn pictures. They were just pictures, and they were of a time she clearly wanted to forget.

“Willow, they have to come down.” I tried to use a calm voice, to help her not feel reactive, but it didn’t seem to work.

“You fucking bastard!” She stood and threw the ice cream at me. Her horrible aim had the ice cream slamming into the wall next to me, smearing cookies and cream down the wall.

“What the fuck!” I dropped to my knees and picked up the pint before the entire thing was emptied onto the carpet, then grabbed the blob of ice cream that slowly slid down the wall, clinging to the gray paint. “Why did you do that?”

“Shut up! Just shut up and get the fuck out!” Willow threw a pillow at me, and then a hairbrush. The items pelted me and the wall over my head and I swatted more away when her phone and car keys came next.

“Stop!” I set the ice cream container on the corner of my dresser and moved toward her, wiping my hands on my pants. “Willow, knock it off. You’re being ridiculous.”

She continued to hurl things at me, anything within reach, until I grabbed her wrists and forced her to stop. Her angry tears continued though, piercing my heart like drops of acid.

“What on earth…”

“Did you see it? Did you even fucking look at it? You’re so worried about your fucking image you didn’t even see what the picture was. You’re so focused on yourself that you only looked at you in the picture. Nothing else mattered.” She sobbed, wrestling her wrists out of my grip. “Look at the fucking picture, Charles. Look at it!” Her final scream was enough. I opened my phone again, looking down at the images.

Willow sank onto the end of the bed and sobbed while I tried to calm myself long enough to take in what was happening in the photo. I knelt, bong in my mouth, while my old college buddy, Brian Topscher, held the other end up in the air. Behind him, Willow stood with tears in her eyes and a grin on her face—a giant rock of a ring on her finger. The night flooded back to me all at once.

“I proposed.” The words came out against my will. My heart sank. Once again, I was an asshole.

She sat down on the end of the bed and buried her face in her hands, and I sighed. That night I had proposed in front of everyone at the party. I had a standing bet with Topscher that whoever got engaged first had to bong a six-pack while still down on one knee. Willow was forced to watch our childish bet play out. I didn’t even know that picture existed until now. It had been taken only seconds after she said yes.

“Fuck, Willow. I’m so sorry.” I sat down next to her, wanting to comfort her, but not knowing how.

“They’re my memories. I won’t take them down.” Her face still covered by her hands, I tried to pry them away. She let me.

The pleading look she had in her eyes was so overwhelming I couldn’t stop myself. My heart ached because I knew she was hurt badly emotionally. And the only thing I could do was to kiss it and make it better.

So, I did.

I pressed my lips against hers and poured every ounce of affection I had into that kiss.

And she didn’t resist.

10

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