“I have help. Some local kids.”
After our talk weeks ago, Manning had relented and taken on the teenaged son of a contractor he knew to help keep the shop organized. Then, he’d hired a twenty-year-old college student to do his books. “I think Dad means someone to help with the actual furniture.”
“I have an ear to the ground, but I’m sure it’ll be a while before I find anyone.”
“Maybe I can help,” Dad said. “E-mail me a job description and the hourly wage.”
Manning ran a finger under his collar. “I’m not sure it’s the right time. Who knows when the economy will recover?”
“I think we’ve survived the worst of it,” I said.
“My furniture is a luxury, not a necessity. And with a business directly related to homes, in this market, things could still decline.”
I could hear the irritation in Manning’s voice, though I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Even if business did suffer, Manning had always been good with money. I had complete faith we’d land on our feet. Didn’t he?
“Maybe it’s time to consider reducing the quality of the pieces,” Dad suggested. “With some cheap labor, you could create a more affordable line.”
Manning wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table before scooting out his chair. “Excuse me.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, twisting my head to try to read his body language.
“To get something from the truck,” he said on his way out of the dining room. “I’ll be right back.”
I wasn’t buying that, and neither was my mom. “Why do you get on him about his business?” Mom asked my dad. “You know he likes to do things his way.”
“Because he’s being stubborn for no good reason. If he’s planning on a family, he needs to think smarter about how to generate the most income while keeping expenses down.”
Manning struggled with that part of his business. Building each piece to his nearly impossible specifications kept him from looking for help, but he also felt pressured to not only take on—but please—every client.
“He’s doing everything the way he needs to,” I said, also getting up. “He’d never hire cheap labor to make an extra buck. Also, he’s more dedicated than anyone I know, and he has a loyal customer base to show for it.”
“I didn’t say anything about dedication,” Dad called after me as I left the room. “I’m talking about basic supply and demand here.”
I took my jacket from the coatrack and pulled it on as I went out front. With the setting sun as his backdrop, Manning leaned against the side of his truck, smoking. Again. I bypassed the front walkway for the lawn’s grassy hill, which got me to him faster. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing, beautiful.”
I crossed my arms. “Then stop smoking so much.”
“It’s just a little more than usual,” he said but dropped the half-finished cigarette to the curb. He stamped it out, nodding at me. “See? Now come here.”
I went to him, hugging his middle as I looked up at him. “What’s wrong, Manning? Really? I’ve seen your books. We did our tax returns together. I know we’re not having money trouble.”
“We easily could be. With your tuition and a wedding and starting a family on top of the mortgage and business expenses—Lake, your dad’s right. I’ve hit a ceiling with how much I can produce. I could be making a lot more.”
I shook my head. “We’re fine. We’re in less debt than most people and we only have it in the first place because of my student loans. I’m graduating soon, and I can start contributing. Plus, I still have some money saved from when I worked on the show.”
“Money you set aside for our baby’s future.” He smoothed a hand over my hairline. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this. We are fine. We’re perfect.”
As he said it, I rubbed the frown lines from between his eyes. Worry was stitched into Manning’s DNA. “Perfect doesn’t exist.”
“As long as you exist, your argument will fall on deaf ears.”
“I’ll support whatever you decide,” I said. “I love that you’re so dedicated to your craft, but I also worry you work yourself too hard. If you hire help, it means you can spend more time with me.”
“It also means being responsible for someone else’s income. If the economy tanks even more, then what?”
“You fire him.”
“He—or she—would depend on me. I’d only bring on someone skilled, not someone I could just let go when times are tough.” He sniffed. “By the way, I would never make an ‘affordable line.’”
“I forbid you from it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. You’re too good at what you do. It would devalue your work. And while we’re at it, I also demand that you cut back on the smoking before you get in too deep again.”
He covered the top of my head with his hand. “This little girl thinks she can forbid me from anything.”
“I’m not so little anymore,” I said, straightening up.
“No, you’re not.” He laced his hand with mine and pulled me away from the truck. But as I turned back for the house, he tugged me in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”
“Where?” I asked as we walked off the curb and toward my parents’ neighbor’s house.
He didn’t answer, walking us along their front lawn until we were standing at the end of their walkway. He released my hand to point at the wall we’d both sat on the day we’d met. “I can still see you standing in front of me, that giant backpack weighing you down. And then, up on the wall, nervously kicking the heels of your tennis shoes against the bricks.”
“What makes you think I was nervous?”
“Call it a hunch.”
I smiled, sticking my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. Summers didn’t have that same breezy, careless feel anymore. They were different now, but so were Manning and I.
He’d been right when he’d said we’d both been kids back then. To me, he’d been as much an adult as anyone else I knew, but the truth was, he’d been as young and unsure of himself as I’d been. That Pink Floyd shirt he’d worn had been so old, it would’ve been impossible to keep it around, but I wished he still had it. I’d never forget that image of him sitting with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he’d assessed me with a curious, albeit restrained, gaze.
“Ready to go back in?” he asked.
Lost in the memory, I hadn’t noticed him leave my side. I turned to find him a few feet back, as if he’d started for the house without me.
“Sure.”
“Don’t forget your jewelry,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Ha-ha,” I said, showing him the bracelet on my wrist. “You wish I’d lose it again, just so you could be the hero and find it.”
“I’m serious.” He nodded at my feet. “You dropped something.”
As I glanced down, a glint of gold caught the light of the lowering sun. I stooped, about to pick up what looked like a piece of jewelry, but froze. A ring shone against the pavement, centered with a pearly, iridescent stone surrounded by diamonds. Although it looked valuable, its uniqueness struck me first, that awful feeling of losing something sentimental. “This isn’t mine, but it’s beautiful,” I said.
He bent down and dusted it off. I barely caught the suppressed smile on his face before I noticed he was on one knee. I gasped, covering my mouth as my eyes watered. “Manning—what . . .?”
“I wasn’t planning this or anything,” he said. “Been carrying it around for a while, and I definitely didn’t think I’d do this at your parents’ of all places.”
I kept my hand over my mouth, nodding, even though I struggled to make sense of what he was saying.
“This is a moonstone.” He held up the ring. “Over time, the color can subtly change. It’s not the most expensive stone or the most traditional. It’s kind of like the adult version of a mood ring. See how the edges aren’t smooth?”
The sto
ne took a natural shape, oval but still misshapen, highlighted by the tiny diamonds around the outside edge. I nodded.
“I didn’t just pick the most expensive ring,” he said. “I wanted one that reminded me of you.”
Finally, I lowered my hands, dropping onto my knees. “Are you asking me to marry you? Why are you talking so much?”
He laughed. “Nerves, I guess.”
“You know my answer, Manning.”
He took my hand in both of his and removed our cherished mood ring from my fourth finger. “I love you, Lake. I guess there are lots more romantic places I could ask you to be mine, but where better than the first time I laid eyes on you?”
Manning had to have known proposing in a place painted with our history would mean more to me than anything else. I nodded hard. “I love you, too.”
“In this spot, you opened your beautiful mouth and decided to trust me. To love someone you weren’t supposed to. To ask me about Pink Floyd.” He smiled. “So I’d really like if, right here, you’d agree to be my wife.”
“I do,” I said, bumbling over the words with a fluttered laugh. “I mean yes. ‘I do’ comes later.”
“Officially, even though I already think of you as mine forever—will you marry me?”
How could I possibly explain how much I wanted that, too? Had always wanted that? What could I say to convey my love for him? “Manning—”
“Just say yes, Birdy.”
My eyes watered. Though I’d fought with Manning many times over the fact that perfection didn’t exist, in the end, I might’ve actually been wrong about that. A tear crept down my cheek. “Yes.”
He slid the ring in place and stood, helping me up. I launched myself into his arms and he pulled me against him so tightly, I was off my feet, our mouths meeting. “You went awfully far to get me to kiss you at my parents’ house,” I whispered against his lips.
“Not far enough if you ask me.” He pecked me and set me down. “Let’s get back inside before they come looking for us.”
“Do we have to?” I sighed as he took my hand and walked us up the walkway. I lifted our interlocked hands to inspect the ring. “It’s beautiful. I don’t want to share it with anyone.”
He released my hand, took the ring off, and tucked it into a black velvet box. “I’ll put it back on you tonight, when we’re home.”
I snuggled into his side, silently thanking him for not asking why. I didn’t need Tiffany judging my non-diamond or Mom and Dad trying to figure out what it meant. Manning was the one who always reminded me our relationship was nobody else’s business. We were years beyond allowing anyone else to dictate how we should feel about each other.
He pushed the ring box back in his pocket and opened the front door for us.
“There you two are,” Mom said as we walked back into the dining room. “We were about to give up and have some pie.”
“We’ll get it,” Manning and I said at the same time.
We both laughed as Mom, Dad, and Tiffany stared blankly at us. Once, Manning and I had served my family pie together on special guest dishes. I’d snuck glances at him, trying to figure him out, and Manning was surely remembering the same thing.
I opened the Tupperware I’d brought as Manning uncovered the cake dish with Tiffany’s pie. “Is this apple?” he asked. “Looks good.”
I smiled sweetly at him. “I love you, Great Bear, but if you lay a finger on that pie, I’ll toss that engagement ring in the garbage disposal and walk out of your life forever.”
He guffawed a laugh, pushed aside the plate, and pulled me into his arms. “You didn’t let me finish. I was saying that pie looks good for a second-rate pastry. You should know nothing, and nobody, could ever steal me away from my favorite flavor—blueberry.”
Big Bear
Summer 2009
8
Despite a home filled with friends and family, I had no doubt who was tapping on my door at midnight. I turned on a lamp and got out of bed. With a knowing smile, I tied my robe around my waist.
I answered to find Manning leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over a black t-shirt. “Don’t like knocking on my own bedroom door.”
“You can’t come in,” I said.
“I’m not above begging.” He looked me over. “Were you asleep?”
“Not even close.”
“I didn’t think so. Is it nerves?”
“No,” I whispered, stepping into him. I’d slept without him enough nights while away at school, so now that I’d graduated and lived full time in Big Bear, I didn’t want to sleep alone anymore. “I just want tomorrow to go well. Did you have a good time barbequing for everyone tonight?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how much rehearsing we did, but it’s nice to have us all in one place.”
“Did you ever think, when you built this place, that the bedrooms would one day be filled with people we love?”
“Can’t say that I did. I didn’t think of myself as such a lucky bastard.”
At tonight’s rehearsal dinner, I’d looked around a backyard filled with people I cared about. As my eyes had landed on Manning at the grill, I’d wondered—could he say the same? Henry, Manning’s only father figure, had made the trip with his entire family, and he’d brought Manning’s aunt along as well. Gary was also in town with his wife, Lydia. The absence of Manning’s parents and sister rarely affected us day to day, but this weekend, it would be unavoidable. Since it was my first time alone with him since that morning, I said, “I’m sorry your family couldn’t be here.”
He thumbed the hollow of my cheek. “My aunt came. Madison’s always with me some way or another.”
“But your parents—”
“Don’t mean anything to me anymore.”
I played with his shirt hem. “You were close with your mom before everything, though. I’m not saying she should’ve been here—I only wish things were different for you.”
“And I’m saying that I don’t wish a single thing was different.”
I smiled, fisting his t-shirt to bring him closer. “You are a lucky bastard,” I said, “just not tonight. I don’t think we’re supposed to be cavorting at all.”
“Hmm.” He sighed, rejected and dejected. “If only the wedding police weren’t a real thing.”
“Very funny,” I said. “I’d like to take this moment to remind you that you were the one who wanted a ‘traditional’ wedding. I would’ve been fine keeping it low-key, but you had to have a blessing from my dad, a rehearsal dinner, a bouquet and boutonniere, Blue as a ring bearer—”
“I never said anything about spending a night apart, though.”
“You don’t get to pick and choose which traditions you abide by,” I said, rising to the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek. “Enjoy a night to yourself in the guest room.”
I went to shut the door when Manning caught it with his hand. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why I’m here?”
“I know why you’re here,” I said, but the amused look on his face had me doubting myself.
“Give me some credit,” he said. “I can go without it for an evening. I did it four nights a week for years.”
“Not lately,” I reminded him. “Ever since we finalized the wedding plans, it’s as if you haven’t been physically capable of keeping your hands to yourself.”
“That’s ’cause picturing you in a wedding dress drives me insane.” He groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose, as if it actually pained him. “I can’t talk about this or I’ll break tradition and spoil our plans for tonight.”
“Plans?” I asked, checking the clock on the nightstand. “It’s after midnight on the day of our wedding.”
He tugged on the sash of my robe. “Throw on some jeans and tennis shoes, and meet me out front.”
“We can’t go anywhere,” I said. “We have a house full of guests.”
“They won’t even know we’re gone. Come on. Hurry up.”
“I’m the bride,” I said. “I nee
d my beauty rest.”
He opened my robe. “You couldn’t get any more beautiful.”
The way his lids fell as he trailed a finger down the front of my nightie, I had a feeling if I didn’t agree to go out, we’d wind up staying in and sacrificing sleep anyway.
“All right,” I said, stopping his hand in its tracks. “You’d better head out front before we get ourselves in trouble.”
Alone, I flipped on the closet light to change. Truthfully, I was grateful for whatever Manning had planned. Before he’d knocked, I’d been staring at the ceiling, overthinking what we were about to do. Marrying Manning wouldn’t be hard—it was doing it in front of everybody we knew and loved that’d been keeping me up. My suggestion to go to City Hall had been genuine but perhaps one made out of fear. Up until January, he and I had lived in our own private bubble. We’d been spending time here and there with my family, but they’d only known as a couple seven months. It was as if we were all getting reacquainted.
As I left our bedroom and headed down a hallway of closed doors where my parents, Manning’s aunt, and some of my girlfriends slept, I couldn’t help worrying about standing up in front of all of them with a man no one thought I was supposed to end up with. Did they still have their doubts?
To Manning’s credit, except for a libido in overdrive, he’d been nothing but calm about the wedding since he’d proposed. He had no doubts. No nerves. If anything, he’d been working harder than usual to ensure all the details were taken care of. So when I found him waiting at the base of the porch steps with Blue, looking every inch a man in jeans and fishing boots, the porch swing’s floral printed cushions under one arm, any fears I had vanished. Tomorrow was about marrying the man I loved, a man both tough and sensitive, determined but attentive. It wasn’t about anything or anyone else but us.
“Why are you wearing galoshes?” I asked, taking his outstretched hand. I started for his truck but he pulled me around the side of the house, toward the back. “And what’re the cushions for?”
Lake + Manning: Something in the Way, 4 Page 7