Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  The truth is, it’s not about her relationship with God that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. It’s about who she is, who she’s always been. Generous, idealistic, romantic, sweet, and honest. It’s about all the bits and pieces of her that were always there; the way her heart was built to surrender to love. When she chose to surrender to God, it was like everything about her that I love so much, it became magnified. Her decision to become a Christian made parts of our relationship easier, but I knew that I wanted to marry her before that. I knew that I wanted to marry her after our first fight.

  I remember it like it was five minutes ago. It was a couple weeks before Thanksgiving on a Friday night. I was working and the bar was pretty busy when Logan came in. I could tell by what she was wearing that she had come straight from work. She had on a sweater, the red one that sort of folds over her shoulders, and her plaid skirt with those black leather boots that go all the way to her knee. From where I was standing, she looked totally out of my league, which made me even more happy to see her.

  All the seats at the bar were taken so she stood at the end, like she always does when we’re busy. Eric served her a beer while she waited for a spot to open up. When I went to say hello, one of my customers stopped me. A girl—a girl whose details I don’t remember now anymore than I could remember then. She was with a couple of her friends, all of whom were feeling pretty friendly. As she placed her order, she joked with me and made me laugh. I wasn’t even aware that Logan was paying attention until she said something mean to the girl.

  It caught me off guard and both of us stared at her in surprise. Deeming Logan’s jealous attitude uncalled for, I stood up for the customer, which ignited an argument between Logan and me—right there at the bar. I remember feeling so irritated that she’d come in with a bad attitude and decided to take it out on some harmless stranger. She stormed out without an apology. As I watched her leave, my irritation flared into an all consuming, indescribable ache. It wasn’t that I was sad to see her go so much as I was disappointed that we were still capable of talking to each other like we did before—before we were a couple, or even just friends. I’d forgotten what it was like to really go at it with Logan.

  As soon as she left, my customer thanked me for standing up for her. However, her appreciation was followed by a rude comment about Logan, which wasn’t necessary. It was then that I realized, I just wasn’t going to win that night. Sometimes, girls are just mean, scary creatures. Needless to say, I was a bit of a grouch for the rest of my shift. I drove all the way home before I even thought about calling Logan. When I pulled into the driveway, before I got out of the Jeep, I decided that I didn’t want to go to bed angry. So I called her. Twice. She ignored both attempts.

  I walked into the house too frustrated to offer more than a grumble to Trisha and Ryan, who were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie. I headed straight to my room, determined to put this night behind me before I had any more time to stew and get even more upset. When I turned on the light, there she was. For a moment, I was so surprised to see her that I stood frozen in the doorway. Logan was in my bed, dressed down with her hair loose and fanned across my pillow as she lay sleeping. When I finally got my wits about me, I closed us in and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging her awake.

  As soon as her eyes opened and she saw me, she sat up and swept her hair behind her ears. Neither of us spoke as we stared at each other. It was as if we needed the reality of our first fight to sink in a little bit more. Then, out of nowhere, she started crying.

  “This hurts,” she said, pressing her hand against her chest. “Do you feel that? I can hardly breathe, it hurts so much. Fighting with you—god, I used to do it all the time. But tonight—it’s like the worst feeling and I hate it. I’m sorry, Rome. I’m so sorry. I’ve just had the worst day!”

  Seeing her break down like that pierced me straight through. I did feel what she felt. I understood that it went against the evolution of our relationship to talk to each other so spitefully. I hated it as much as she did. In that moment, it dawned on me: how we treated each other before we were friends is worse than I’ve ever treated anyone. For two minutes at the bar, I was that guy again and she was that girl. I didn’t recognize that as truth until we were both knee deep in remorse over a stupid fight. As I reached my hand up to wipe away her tears, I decided that the guy I am for her now is the version of myself that I want to be.

  Without a word, I got up and went to my closet. I kicked off my shoes, stripped off my work clothes, and put on a pair of sweatpants before I shut out the light and climbed into bed with her. She snuggled up against me and I welcomed her into my arms. Somehow I knew, without quite knowing how I knew, that we could do this—that we could stay this way forever—that I wanted to stay this way forever.

  It took a long time for me to decide that I wanted to marry Kathryn. Even then, it was more about what was supposed to come next for us. It’s not like that now, with Logan. In fact, it feels like the opposite. We’ve known each other for years, but we’ve only loved each other for a couple months. I know plenty of people who would argue that we need more time, that I need more time to be sure that this is what I really want—especially considering my history. But I don’t need more time. I just need Logan.

  What I know is this: She’s the right girl and this is the right time. I’ve never been able to say that before.

  I also know that she’ll be up soon, so I need to get moving.

  We’re spending this Christmas at her parent’s vacation house in Steamboat Springs. Daphne always thought this place was a little piece of paradise. She’s not wrong. It’s a huge house with too many rooms and amenities, but it’s beautiful. It’s also currently occupied by my family and Logan’s. I met Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz yesterday afternoon when Logan and I arrived with Daphne and Trevor. My parents came along shortly after. So far it’s been good. Her parents seem to like me and my parents are making an effort. There’s been no yelling or crying, which I think is a small victory for us all. Granted, my sister refuses to be alone in any room with my mother but…baby steps, right?

  When I make my way down into the kitchen, I see that Trevor and Daphne are already up. Daph is sitting at the breakfast bar in her pajamas, waiting patiently for the small cup of coffee that Trevor’s doctoring for her. I watch as he hands it to her and she reaches for a kiss before he makes himself his own cup. Watching their exchange makes me smile. It’s nothing, really, just a simple morning routine—but it’s nice to see. All I ever wanted for my sister was true happiness. It’s obvious that she’s found that.

  “Good morning,” I say in greeting as I make my way into the kitchen.

  “Good morning. Merry Christmas, Rome,” Daphne greets in response, turning on her stool with open arms. I give her a quick hug and she gives me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Merry Christmas.” Trevor and I exchange a hug and a pat on the back before he takes the spot beside my sister.

  “You two are up early,” I observe.

  “She woke me up,” Daphne replies, rubbing her hand around her protruding belly.

  She’s really starting to show these days and it looks good on her.

  “What’s your excuse?” I ask, nodding at Trevor.

  “My girls are up, I’m up. What’s your excuse?”

  “Oh. I needed to make sure I was up before Logan, so I set an alarm.” I head for the coffee pot and begin to pour what’s left of the fresh brew down the sink.

  “Whoa—what are you doing? I just made that,” Trevor protests.

  “I know. Sorry. It’s part of my plan.”

  “What plan—?”

  “Oh, my god!” cries Daphne, clapping her hands around her mouth. “Now?”

  I smile at her as I take the ring box from out of my pocket. She reaches for it but I pull it away and shake my head. “Nope. You’re not seeing what’s inside this box until it’s on her finger.”

  “Why not?” she asks with a frown.

>   “It’s bad enough I have to compete with that boulder on your hand. No. I don’t want to see your face when you see the ring because I’ll know what you’re thinking without you having to say a word and I don’t want to know.”

  “Rome,” she huffs with an eye roll. “She loves you and she’s going to say yes and she’s going to wear the hell out of whatever’s in that box—so, let me see. Just a peek?”

  “No,” I state, returning to my task. I replace the old filter with a new one and place the ring inside before shutting it once more. Just as it clicks back into place, I hear Logan’s voice. She’s talking to her mom as they descend the stairs together. While she speaks, she pulls her hair back into a ponytail and then drapes it over her shoulder. She’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of snug-fitting sweatpants, both proclaiming her pride for her alma mater. This is how I like her best—dressed down and carefree.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone,” says Mrs. Schwartz.

  “Merry Christmas,” my siblings and I reply in unison.

  Logan skips towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck when she reaches me. “Good morning,” she murmurs, touching her nose to mine.

  “Morning, babe. How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a princess. You?”

  “Pretty good. Although, I’m feeling a tad bit sluggish. I could go for a cup of coffee.”

  She sighs as she rests her cheek against my chest and looks over at Daphne. “Did you hear that? It’s like music to my ears. It never gets old.”

  Daphne chuckles as she swallows a sip from her cup. “Well, you better satisfy his craving before he goes hunting for tea. We drank all of the first pot. Er—Trevor did. I’m being good. Just one cup for me.”

  “You’ve been up long enough to drink a whole pot? You’d think you guys were kids, anxious to see what Santa brought,” teases Mrs. Schwartz as she goes to the cupboard to grab the coffee.

  “Um—Mrs. Schwartz, I was actually hoping Logan would make it. I’m—uh—I’m new to coffee and I’m kind of picky about how I take it,” I stutter, hoping I won’t have to beg for her to let Logan take over.

  “Oh. Sure. As long as you stop calling me Mrs. Schwartz,” she says with a smile, handing Logan the coffee grounds.

  “Sorry. Thanks, Valerie.”

  “Better.” She pats my shoulder before she goes to grab three coffee mugs. I shift my focus to Logan, who is filling the pot with water.

  As I wait for her to pull open the top of the machine, my heart starts to beat faster and my stomach knots up with nerves. I know this is what I want—I know that I’ve been planning this for weeks—but that doesn’t make this any easier. She could say no. I hope she won’t—Daphne’s sure she won’t—but she could. We haven’t been together that long and we haven’t really discussed marriage in any great detail. Really, the only thing I’m sure of is that she loves me. She knows I don’t have a very good track record with engagements. That might scare her or make her pause. Regardless—

  She gasps when she discovers the box and plucks it out with bright eyes. “Is this a Christmas present? Is this for me?” she cries, turning to address me.

  “Sort of. Yeah,” I chuckle, both amused and unnerved that she hasn’t already guessed what’s inside.

  “Can I open it?”

  “Please,” I insist. As she cracks open the box I drop to one knee, just to make it perfectly clear what’s happening. For a few seconds, she stares at the ring. It’s a two carat tear drop peach sapphire surrounded by diamonds on a rose gold band. I wanted to give her something different, something unique, something eye catching, and something pink. I know I took a risk, straying from the traditional diamond setting, but I took a risk with her and I wanted the ring to represent that, too. When she doesn’t say anything, I reach for the box and take it from her as I hold her hand in mine.

  “Logan Elise, I love you. You are everything I didn’t know I wanted. You are as gorgeous as you are generous, you are as driven as you are intelligent, you are as passionate as you are talented, and you push and challenge me just by being you.

  “I can’t promise that a life spent with me will be easy. I can’t promise that we won’t fight—because we will, we have, but we do it so well,” I jest with a nervous laugh. “I can’t promise that we’ll agree on everything—because we won’t, we’re different. I can’t promise that we won’t hurt each other—because the rest of our lives is a long time and neither of us are perfect. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to trust you alone in the kitchen—although, you are getting a lot better. And I can’t promise that I’ll ever be a huge fan of football—it’s just not my cup of tea,” I tack on with a smirk.

  She’s crying now, but the smile that plays at her lips makes me think I’m doing pretty well. “Then what can you promise?” she manages to choke out.

  “I promise to punch any asshole who kisses you, to always take you out for brunch after yoga, and to let you redecorate our house as many times as you want. I promise to flirt with you shamelessly and as often as possible. I promise I will strive to always be a greater man tomorrow than I am today. I promise that I will love you, cherish you, protect you and support you until I breathe my last. Logan—I promise you forever.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Those are pretty good promises,” she giggles as she wipes away her tears.

  “So, Logan, will you marry me?”

  She hesitates and I hold my breath until she speaks. “A little over a year ago, I stood in this very house and listened to Beckham and Addie yell their brains out at each other. I’d never heard his voice in that tone before. It was so full of fire and desperation…love. I remember thinking that I wished someone would love me like that; love me so much that no girl, no matter how pretty or smart or fun or drunk could tempt him to want anyone but me.

  “I didn’t know it then, because I didn’t want to know it, but I wasn’t just mad or hurt that Beck never told me about Addie. I was mad because he made me want more. He reminded me that I have always wanted something more. You’re my something more, Rome. And I love you so much. So—yes. Yes! Hell yes!”

  I breathe a sigh of relief at her hearty agreement. I barely have a chance to get the ring on her finger before she’s yanking me up by the collar of my t-shirt. As soon as I’m on my feet, her lips find mine. I’m reminded that we have an audience when they all start clapping and cheering. If anyone was still sleeping, they’re bound to be awake now.

  When she pulls away from the kiss, she rests her left hand on my chest and stares at her engagement ring. “Rome—it’s beautiful. I love it.” She pauses as she looks up at me. “I love you. Thank you.”

  “So, Corny—you do realize what you’ve just done, right?” asks Daphne, snatching our attention. I furrow my brow in confusion, unsure whether or not her question is legit or rhetorical. “You’ve just created bridezilla,” she explains.

  We all laugh, not because it’s funny but because we know it’s true, and I plant a kiss in Logan’s hair before I whisper in her ear, “Totally worth it.”

  January 2016

  “I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed with what you’ve got going on over there,” says Roman as I clear a space for binder number three. It’s the thinnest, as I haven’t really had a chance to do much wedding planning, but in a few days that will change.

  “Definitely impressed,” I assure him as I sit at my desk. “As you know, your fiancee is brilliant and I can do, like, a million things at once.”

  “Apparently. Please tell me that you’re at least consuming three meals a day—actual meals that don’t consist entirely of cups of coffee. And don’t even pretend you aren’t substituting expresso beans for sleep.”

  I smile at him, appreciative of his concern while, at the same time, hoping he won’t notice when I evade his question. “Starting tomorrow we have just seven days to get a shit ton of work done in that house. It’s crucial that we have a plan so that everyone can pull their weight and we can get it done before the
lovebirds get back. This binder here is our carefully constructed guide,” I explain, holding up the gray binder, neatly stuffed with necessities. “This one is work stuff, but I can put it off for the weekend,” I tell him, pointing to the white binder. “And I’m hoping that in any spare time I manage to find, I can work on this one,” I say, showing him my pink wedding planner book.

  “Right. Well, about your health—I just want to make sure you’re still taking care of yourself.”

  I sigh as I stand. “Sleep is not my priority right now, which is why there’s such thing as espresso. Plus, I eat when I’m hungry. I promise.” He scoots out his chair as I make my way toward him, knowing already where I’m headed. When I plop down into his lap, he circles his arms around my waist and I rest mine around his shoulders. “I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep for a week as soon as I get the chance.”

  For the past couple of months, I have been organizing the ultimate engagement/wedding/baby gift for my skank and her hubby. I wanted it to be a surprise, so it’s been quite a bit of work orchestrating the whole thing. I’ve been balancing this project on top of my responsibilities at my day job. Not to mention, I’ve got my mother’s constant reminder that my wedding will be here sooner than I know it and I need to nail down a guest list. Anyway, when I told Roman about my gift idea, he suggested that we get everyone to chip in and help. This way, it will be from all of us. The Generation Ink crew was thrilled with my idea and were quick to volunteer their time, muscles, and skill. My parents are contributing a few new pieces of furniture, and I even convinced Mr. and Mrs. Holloway to join in on the fun. They’re going to furnish the nursery.

  We’re going to redecorate the Rockwell house. Trevor never really did anything with it when he moved in and—me being me—there’s no way I could let my best friend and my niece live in a house that is lacking in any sort of decor. I mean—it’s like a giant bachelor pad with Daphne’s things in the closet. I am a firm believer that a home should tell the story of who you are. I know their story has barely just begun, but they’re more than beige walls, old furniture, and horrible window treatments.