A Thin Line-

by DL White

  I reach across the console of the Jeep, find his hand, and interlock my fingers between his. He squeezes. I squeeze back.

  In a few moments, we are back home, the driveway full of the cars of our friends who are spending Christmas morning celebrating our engagement with us.

  Us. The two people no one ever thought would get back together are engaged.

  Preston cuts the engine but doesn’t get out of the Jeep. We sit, holding hands, savoring the moment. Finally, I nod toward the house. “Suppose we should get this party started.”

  “Yeah,” he answers. But doesn’t move.

  “You okay?” He nods. He’s staring at me, those deep brown, soulful irises boring a hole right through me. “I never said Merry Christmas.”

  I wiggle my finger at him, the one bearing the rock that he’d slipped on. “Yeah, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Merry Christmas, Angie. I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Thanks for that.”

  I bat my eyes, blinking away tears. No tears today, happy or otherwise, I tell myself. “Merry Christmas, baby. You’ve made me very, very happy.”

  We lean in, meeting over the gearshift and get in one last smooch before the front door opens, and a gaggle of people spills out. Preston pretends to be irritated. “We can’t get rid of these people, can we?”

  I laugh, both at him and the small crowd surrounding the car, tapping on the hood and lightly beating on the windows. If we don’t get out, they might flip it.

  “It would be a waste of time to try. Shall we?”

  We escape from the Jeep and, hand in hand, walk into our house as an engaged couple for the first time.

  39

  "I don't want to go anywhere now.”

  Preston sprawls the length of the couch, his legs, clad in a pair of the fleece lounge pants that I'd bought him for Christmas, crossed at the ankles. His head is in my lap, and the heft of his body traps me. I don't mind. I could use a nap.

  “It was your idea to get up at ass-thirty and take a trip to the other side of the lake."

  My tone is nonchalant, but my eyes glisten and dance as I lift my hand again and stare at the rock on my finger. The sheer weight of it, the delicate facets, the shine, the gorgeous detail impress me over and over again. Preston—and my friends, because I know they all approved the ring—did a great job.

  Preston angles his head up, sensing that I’m staring at the ring again. His smile confirms that his suspicion is correct. "At least you got something out of it."

  "You're gonna get something, too," I mumble, wiggling my finger so the diamond glints in the light of the fire and the tree. “To get it, you have to get through the day and be good."

  He groans. "I'm not good at being good."

  "I know. That's why the reward will be worth it."

  Preston grins and wiggles in my lap. "I like rewards."

  He yawns again, giving a sidelong glance to the tree, and the wads of wrapping paper piled up around it. "It was a great Christmas, baby.”

  I stretch my legs as best I can and prop my feet up on the coffee table, taking in my view of the living room. Preston likes to show off his buying power and impeccable taste, so gifts are his specialty.

  He stuffed my stocking with trinkets like gift cards so that I could shop for clothes for my new job, a bottle of Versace perfume, and a few pairs of earrings— sterling silver and brassy gold.

  Under the tree were lots of little boxes for me— an iPod, Beats earbuds, a pair of ASICS running shoes to replace the pair I’ve long needed to switch out, and a Movado watch, encrusted with Swarovski crystals and bangles to match.

  But the gift that I actually cherished the most, more symbolic than anything— a gleaming wood desk set for my new office, complete with an engraved brass plate that read Evangeline N. Blake, Attorney at Law.

  “Don’t get attached to that,” Preston had said, as soon as I lifted it from the box. “If you change your name, I’m ordering you a new plate.”

  I didn't have room on my desk at F&R for much more than my files, let alone a nameplate. At Reid Law Group, I have an entire office, with room for guests to sit. I'm giddy all over again at the prospect of a new start.

  I hadn't had to think about what to get Preston for a gift giving holiday in a very long time. Besides, he didn’t ever deprive himself. If he wanted something, he bought it. Preston didn’t need anything.

  “Angie,” Troy had said, irritated with me with after the millionth time I’d asked him what I should get Preston for Christmas. “All he cares about is that you’re there. I’m serious. It doesn’t matter what you get him— wake up next to him on Christmas. That’s what he wants.”

  I finally settled on a few suggestions from Nate and Keith— soft Marc Weldon fleece lounge pants, a few t-shirts with snappy sayings like All Black Everything, a bottle of Givenchy cologne and aftershave, a selection of Brioni and Tom Ford ties, and sterling silver Gucci cufflinks with matching tie bar. A man could never have too many of those.

  I tap Preston on the chest a few times. His eyes flutter open, even though he'd only closed them for a few seconds. "We'd better get moving. We have to be at your parent's place soon.”

  He grumbles but begins to sit up, freeing me from my spot on the couch. I stand and stretch and kick a ball of festive wrapping paper out of the way. "You can clean this mess up later."

  "Me? I've already worked so hard today." Preston begins to climb the stairs with me right on his heels.

  "I can already tell you're going to try to get out of stuff because you gave me a ring."

  "They're here!"

  Preston pulls in behind an enormous Range Rover parked in the driveway. Preston’s mother, Camille, bellows from inside the house seconds before the front door flies open, and her five-foot frame bounds down the steps.

  "Merry Christmas!" she screams, wrapping first me and then Preston in warm hugs.

  "Hi, Ma.” Preston bends so she can hug him and plant a kiss on his cheek. He returns the kiss and straightens. “Settle down. We were here twelve hours ago."

  She giggles, clearly giddy. "You weren't engaged twelve hours ago. Let's see the ring!"

  I lift my hand and smirk at Preston, who rolls his eyes and walks around her into the house, toting gift bags containing presents for his family.

  "It's beautiful," she gushes, staring. "Just perfect. He didn't want me to tip off Donna, so I couldn’t see it before hand. You know she wouldn't have been able to resist saying something."

  My mother is the worst at keeping secrets— she doesn’t have a poker face. She has become used to being the last person to know something, simply because she can’t keep good news to herself. I stopped telling her things a long time ago, preferring to surprise her along with everyone else.

  Camille and I admire the ring for a few minutes before heading into the house. "Whose car is that?" I ask, nodding to the Range Rover in the driveway.

  "Oh," says Camille, her face brightening even more if possible. “Wayne is here.”

  No pressure. I wonder if Preston knew about this and didn't tell me because he didn’t want me to be nervous. My chest tightens, and I find it a little hard to breathe as Camille pulls me into the house behind her.

  A high-powered attorney, in my mind, would be tall and svelte, smarmy used car salesman-like, clad head to toe in obvious designer like Louis Vuitton print. Dark hair that is overly oily and slicked back, light eyes, language full of twenty-five cent words. Pretentious and obnoxious.

  A exaggerated version of Preston… in my nightmares.

  Wayne’s countenance is closer to Troy than Preston. Average height, on the stocky side with a receding hairline, the Reid warm brown eyes, friendly smile. His shiny late model vehicle sits in the driveway, and I heard he bought a sprawling home a mile or so from Nate and Morgan. For sure, he earns a hefty salary, but to look at him, you'd never know. He is as charming as if he owned a chain of pet stores, welcoming me with a b
ear hug and pats on the back.

  "I hear great things about you, Angie. Is it Angie or Evangeline?" He stands back and crosses his arms over his chest. He's dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt, open at the collar. The high end watch he wears seems like an afterthought.

  “Evangeline!” Shouts Preston, from across the room.

  "It's Angie,” I correct, cutting my eyes at him. “And thank you. I've heard a lot about you as well."

  "All good, I'm sure. My nephews wouldn't dare say anything bad about their favorite uncle. And boss."

  "Course not, Uncle Wayne." Preston laughs, arriving at my side and pulling me to him. "We're both looking forward to starting the new year off right. New job, new office. Right, baby?"

  “I’m excited. Thank you so much.”

  He waves me off, chuckling. "Don't thank me. Win cases. Preston says you’re good. Troy is the one who needs to worry."

  Troy frowns. “I win cases! Why am I always getting picked on?"

  “Because you’re the baby. Are we eating, or what?"

  Preston heads to the kitchen, where seconds later, Camille fusses at him about lifting lids and looking in the oven.

  I am more excited every minute to leave Flanning & Rourke behind and step into a new life with Preston by my side.

  As my husband.

  And my partner. His office will be down the hall from mine. A sigh catches in my throat as that thought crosses my mind.

  Full of brunch, we gather in the living room. I'm snuggled up to Preston while we watch A Christmas Story, a holiday tradition since we were kids. In the corner of the room, a giant spruce has been weighed down by too many strands of lights and every ornament the Reid family owns. Camille gets deep into decorating— Preston says that it looks like Christmas threw up in the house.

  “I’ve got one more gift. Wanted to save it for when both the guys were here. Now’s as good a time as any.”

  Wayne pushes himself up from the couch, an envelope tucked into his palm.

  “Now, you all know that I signed the lake house over to Preston. Marlena said she’d rather be caught dead then live in a townhome again.”

  The room titters with laughter, the loudest of which is his wife.

  “Besides, Preston said Angie had already moved all of her shoes in, and I understand that’s quite an undertaking.”

  I glare at Preston. He tosses up his hands in surrender. “You have a lot of shoes, baby.”

  Wayne continues. “Troy, you’ve puzzled me, son. When it would be easy to go right, you swing left. When the obvious road is north, you head east. You like to do your own thing in your own way and I suppose I understand wanting to make it under your own power. So, I’m not going to meddle. You’re going to work hard at Reid Law Group, because I know you want to. But I hope you don’t mind that I couldn’t help doing this one little thing for you.”

  He holds out the plain white envelope to Troy, who stands, takes it, and looks puzzled but rips it open. Then stares, open mouthed at the enclosed document.

  "This is the deed to your condo downtown." Troy glances at Wayne.

  “So it is.” Wayne slips both hands into his pockets.

  “It’s— it’s in my name."

  "It's not brand new or anything, but it's got good bones. And it’s all updated, thanks to your brother."

  Wayne turns to grin at Preston, who happens to be shoving a chip loaded with dip into his mouth. He waves off the smiles and chews, brushing chip dust from his hands.

  “New flooring, new stainless steel appliances, new paint, even new light fixtures, and I made Preston personally replace every light bulb. The place is new from the floors up. I knew I was going to give the lake house to Preston, so it was only fair that I set you up, too.”

  Troy and Jade are dumbfounded, reading the short document over and over until it finally sinks in.

  “Tha—” Overcome, the word sticks in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs a few times while he wrestles with his emotion. In a few moments, he tries again. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne. I— we appreciate it. Jade and I have been saving for a place together.”

  He folds the document and slides it back into the envelope. He still looks dazed. Happy, but dazed.

  “Well, now you can afford furniture.”

  Preston presses a set of keys into Troy's palm. The younger brother pulls his older brother into a hug.

  "Congrats, man,” says Preston, his voice gruff, betraying his emotion about the moment. “Don’t worry about being spoiled. You're going to work for it."

  "I figured that," Troy says, laughing, twisting the key ring around his index finger. "Thanks, man, for setting us up, all the way around. New job, a new place to live. You didn't happen to buy me a car, did you?"

  "I'll leave that up to you, but my future father in law owns a dealership. Get that taken care of."

  40

  I wanted to be there when Troy got his gift from Uncle Wayne, but planned to escape soon after. I was overdue to show up on my parent’s doorstep.

  I suspect that Dad knows Preston proposed, but Mom is oblivious and I can’t wait to surprise her. It isn’t something I could blurt out over the phone, so I untangle myself from Preston and head down the street. I can help her cook since dinner will be served at six o'clock, and she sounded frazzled when I'd checked in earlier that day.

  She is too flustered and fussing with her twice baked, cheesy bacon mashed potatoes to notice my new hardware, but my dad's eyes are keen as anything. “He finally did it, huh? Good boy.”

  "Can't slip anything past ya."

  I beam in his direction. He’s comfortably snug in his wheelchair in a sweatshirt and flannel pants. He's wearing his Christmas socks, red and fuzzy with green trees printed on them with slippers.

  "What? What's going on?"

  Mom calls from the kitchen, where she has moved to the stove. I lean down to hug my dad and drop a kiss on his cheek. He rolls himself to the living room. I take my coat off and roll up the sleeves of my sweater, ready to dig in and help.

  "What's your dad talking about?" she asks, vigorously whisking a pot of gravy. My mouth is already watering at the aroma. Mom does a prime rib with all of the trimmings for Christmas.

  “Some jewelry Preston gave me for Christmas."

  “Something shiny, I hope? It’s long overdue—”

  Her gaze rises from the pot of bubbling gravy in time to see the diamonds catch the light. “Evangeline!”

  Her eyes are wide open, as is her mouth. She grabs my hand and pulls it to her to study the ring up close, so distracted that she drops the whisk she's been using to stir the gravy.

  I pick it up and keep stirring. She has a death grip on my left hand. "Mom! Your gravy will have lumps.”

  “Oh, forget the gravy. Eric!” She yells over my shoulder. “Come see this ring! It must be two carats!"

  “It’s not two carats, mom.”

  I hear the wheels of his chair before I see dad. He stops in the entryway to the kitchen. He's smiling, seeming proud. “He was actually nervous about it. I told him to do it; you weren’t going to say no."

  Mom swipes a tear from each cheek before taking her whisk back and turning down the burner under the pot. “I knew it! Well, I didn’t know, but I hoped! Tell me how he proposed! What did he say? Where did he do it? I want to hear everything!”

  I launch into the proposal story and help finish dinner. As I am getting ready to set the table, the front door bursts open.

  “Mom! Dad!”

  Preston is loud and festive, handing out hugs with one arm and toting the gift bags we’d packed the night before.

  “My son in law! For real, this time!” Mom hugs and kisses him on both cheeks. He's glowing, his smile is so bright. I can’t remember when I’ve seen a man so happy to be engaged.

  Troy is on his heels, pulling Jade behind him. “Hope you guys are ready to pay for a big, fancy wedding. Preston is pretentious as fuck.”

  I hear Dad playfully groaning from the
living room where he’s placing the bags Preston handed him under the tree. Mom heads back to the kitchen. “This calls for a toast! I’ve got some sparkling wine.”

  I hand Preston the Wedgwood plates and grab the Mikasa silverware from the hutch. "Get to work, future husband. We're setting the table."

  Preston grumbles about rewards but begins to move around the table, setting a plate at each seat. I follow him with silverware. Mom hands Jade a stack of cloth napkins, and she places one at each setting.

  Mom stands back to inspect the elegant dinner table, nodding appreciatively. "I'll be ready to put the food out in a minute. Boys," Mom says, commanding attention from Preston and Troy. "Call your parents. Tell them to come down."

  As has been our tradition since we were children, the Blakes host the Reids at Christmas. This is the first year in so many that I don't mind sitting next to Preston at dinner. More than once, his hand creeps over my lap, his fingers intertwined with mine. He'd give me a quick squeeze before letting go, then a wink and a smile before jumping back into conversation.

  I’ve genuinely enjoyed Christmas Dinner. Dad loves his presents from us— a weighted blanket, arm pads for his wheelchair, and a boxed set collection of classic funk and soul bands. He’s so excited that he insists on playing the first CD right away, so Sly and the Family Stone is the soundtrack to Christmas.

  Mom loves anything cooking related, so a gift card to spend to her heart's content at Williams-Sonoma made her eyes sparkle. The solitaire pendant from her future son in law didn't hurt, either.

  "So, Angie..." Camille holds half a roll in one hand, a buttered knife in the other. "Have you thought about what kind of ceremony you want? Maybe you'll go away like Morgan?"

  “Maybe we'll elope like Jackie," Preston says, to a rousing chorus of no.

  "Don't even think about it," says Mom. "I've been putting up with the two of you long enough to reap the reward of watching you walk down the aisle. I don't care where you get married, so long as dad and I are there."