by Meg Moseley
“Yep. I’m not looking forward to it.”
He shook his head. “Why can’t she get over her phobia about driving in Atlanta? Or why can’t Alexa take her? For Pete’s sake, it’s her wedding. And we might never have another shot at a trail ride.”
“Alexa doesn’t have a flexible schedule like mine.” I brushed a dangling streamer of lettuce from my sandwich, took another bite, and thought cranky thoughts while I chewed. “Spontaneity’s great, but why do your plans always have to be last-minute?”
“Two days’ warning isn’t last-minute. My friend called me with a kind offer, which you are spurning.”
“Because I already have plans.”
“To pick up a dress your mother won’t wear until June. It can’t wait a week?”
“I’m trying to patch things up with her. I can’t bail on the fitting, especially if it’s to go gallivanting with you.”
“Obviously, she doesn’t like anything that involves you and me together.”
“Making her cancel her appointment just so I could be with you would only make it worse. Mom says—”
“Mom says this, Mom says that. How does she do that? Even when she’s miles away, she butts in. She’s always hanging over us.”
I pictured a gigantic Mama Bear balloon, worthy of the Macy’s parade. Floating above us. Spying on us. It wasn’t a pleasant picture, but I was too grumpy to argue. I shrugged and took another bite.
“The trail ride is a unique opportunity,” he said. “And the weather will be perfect.”
“Sorry, Gray. Enjoy yourself if you go, but I’m not going.”
“I don’t want to go alone.”
“Then don’t go.”
He wrapped up his half-eaten sandwich and returned it to the bag. “You’ve really thrown a monkey wrench into my plans.”
“What about my plans with Mom? You want me to reschedule a fitting she’s had on her calendar for weeks? So I can hang out with a horse?”
“And with me,” he said. “You’re forgetting that part.”
“I see you all the time, but I don’t see much of Mom. When I do, Alexa’s there too. I need some time with just Mom and me so we can talk.”
“You and I need to talk too.” His eyes were blazing.
“Whoa! Don’t spring a last-minute idea on me and then lose your temper when I can’t join you. Get a grip on your spontaneity. See, this is one of the reasons Mom would say we need to slow down.”
He got to his feet, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You want to slow down? I guess I’ve misinterpreted things.” He blew out a sharp sigh. “Okay, we’ll slow down. I shouldn’t have presumed—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I am too. The timing—”
“Yeah, it’s the timing. Bye, Ellie.” He walked back inside without giving me a good-bye kiss.
I’d lost my appetite but not my headache. I stuffed my sandwich back into the bag too. Then I gave him thirty seconds to exit the building before I called. He didn’t pick up.
Suddenly chilled in spite of the sun, I texted. Still no response. I threw the remains of both sandwiches in the trash and returned to my desk.
I called, texted, or emailed every time I had a spare moment. He never responded. Gray, the man who called his phone his “precious,” the man who responded quickly to all forms of electronic communication, was ignoring me.
By quitting time, I was a wreck. Betty noticed, and no doubt she’d seen him striding out of the building only minutes after he’d arrived. When I gathered up my things for the trip home, she gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Whatever it is, he’ll get over it, dear. They always do.”
“I’m not worried,” I said with a phony grin. “Have a nice evening.”
I walked out, holding my briefcase to my chest like a shield. I had places to go. Tears to cry. But I wouldn’t track him down. He knew where to find me.
I had never visited my secret garden so late in the morning. The steady roar of rush-hour traffic drowned out the birdsongs, and the mosquitoes were already out. I didn’t care.
I’d called in sick, my tear-clogged voice making me sound as ill as I claimed to be, but I knew Betty would see right through my story. Everyone would.
I kept imagining finality in Gray’s tone when he said good-bye. Surely he wouldn’t break up with me like that, though, leaving me in the dark. But he’d left me. No doubt about it.
Mom was right. That was what men did.
I yanked at a dandelion. The root broke off in the ground.
I hadn’t slept all night. I’d paced and cried and paced some more, trying to talk myself into calling or texting again, but I’d already tried that. And I wouldn’t go pound on his door. That would smack of desperation. I’d brought my phone, though, just in case.
He would go on the trail ride in the morning. Wearing a cowboy hat and a happy grin, he would be so darned cute.
He might meet some other woman. A friend of his friend. A woman who could afford to be spontaneous because she wasn’t stuck driving her perfectly capable mother around Atlanta. And because I’d said something about slowing down and he’d heard it as “Go away,” he would feel unattached. Available.
Would he forget me that quickly? Really?
A mosquito bit my arm. I slapped hard, stinging my arm and leaving a smear of blood. The minor hurt brought the tears back. I let my shoulders shake but I wouldn’t let myself cry out loud.
Something rustled in the grass behind me. Pastor Michael’s footsteps, maybe. I didn’t want to talk to him when I was a mess of tears and snot and misery. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Not even—
“Ellie?”
Gray. I froze, holding my breath.
“When you didn’t come to the door, I thought you might be here,” he said.
I kept my eyes on the pink petunias. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I broke my phone yesterday. Threw it halfway across the parking lot.”
He’d thrown his precious?
Still on my knees, I maneuvered myself around to see him. He loomed over me, his face unshaved and his shirt rumpled. The same shirt he’d worn yesterday.
“You slept in your clothes?”
He gave me a wry smile. “You slept?”
“No.” I wiped my nose on the shoulder of my shirt. “I’m sorry, Gray.”
“I am too.”
He didn’t move closer, though. He only looked down at me from his considerable height. We were nearly in the same place where we’d first met. I was wearing the same trashed jeans. Should’ve been wearing the same flannel shirt to ward off the mosquitoes.
I sat on the ground and wrapped my arms around my knees. “I never said I wanted to break up or anything like that. I only said Mom would want us to slow down.”
“And that worries me, El. I wish she felt differently about us.”
I studied the filthy toes of my gardening shoes. “I do, too.”
“But I do see what you were saying about needing to stick with your plans,” he said. “You were right.”
“No.” I got to my feet, pulling my phone from my back pocket. “I’ll tell her I can’t drive her tomorrow. We’re doing that trail ride.”
“Too late,” Gary said. “My friend found some other people who were free to go.”
I felt sick. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined your chance to do something that meant so much to you.”
“You have no idea.” His twisted little smile only made me feel worse.
Not knowing what to say, I looked down at my phone and ran my dirty fingers over its glossy surface. I tried to imagine Gray hurling his phone across the parking lot. I’d never seen him that angry. Not even close.
He pulled the phone out of my hand and tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans. “We don’t want any calls right now. I want to talk about something that would give us more time together. Lots more time.”
“What’s your idea?”
He took my hands in his. “I’d p
lanned to bring it up on the trail ride, but this is a nice spot too.”
I searched his eyes. “Nice spot for what?”
“Well, I wanted to ask if you think we should spend our lives together.”
Suddenly shaky all over, I could barely speak. “Um . . . what?”
“Will you marry me?”
What?
His eyes became pools of lost-puppy grief. “You’re supposed to say ‘yes,’ not ‘what,’ Ellie.”
Wait. That was why he’d wanted so badly to go on the trail ride? He’d decided to propose—on horseback? Of all the goofy, impractical, adorable impulses . . .
My vision blurred. I blinked hard and focused on the love in his eyes. And the apprehension. He wasn’t sure I loved him back. My heart hurt with wanting to prove that I did.
“Ask me again,” I whispered.
A mockingbird trilled at the very moment Gray spoke. “Will you marry—”
“Yes!”
The bird hadn’t finished its trill before Gray wrapped his arms around me and bowled me over. Laughing and crying, we nearly suffocated each other with kisses, right there on the scratchy lawn.
Gray propped himself on one elbow and studied me. Gently, he ran his thumb over my left cheekbone and then my right. “How did your face get so muddy?”
“Water plus dirt equals mud, city boy.”
“I’m sorry I made you cry. I never want to do that again.” He cupped my cheek in one hand and bent to kiss my forehead. “I wish I had a ring to give you, but I didn’t want to buy the wrong style.”
“The ring can wait. But I won’t make you wait to marry me.”
I started crying for no good reason. He put me in his lap and held me close, his scratchy, whiskery face pressed against mine. A splash of sunshine settled over my shoulders like a benediction.
I’d found my gown. I’d found my groom. Now I only had to find the courage to tell my mother.
That evening, we made quesadillas at his place. All through the cooking and the eating and the cleanup, I dreamed of the day we would share one apartment or the other, and we wouldn’t part at the end of the evening.
He sank into his couch, found the remote, and turned on his wall-mounted TV. A cowboy was riding into a black-and-white sunset with his woman snuggled into the saddle with him.
“That could be us, riding into the sunset,” he said. “Together. You want to get married on horseback?”
I sat beside him, not wanting to be a party pooper again but utterly unenthusiastic about inviting horses to our wedding. “Well, um . . .”
“Just kidding. I don’t care how or where we get married. Could be in a hot air balloon. In gorilla suits. As long as we’re together.”
I smiled, imagining a hot air balloon landing on the manicured lawn of a country club somewhere. In gorilla suits—tuxedo black for him and bridal white for me—we would make our grand entrance and take to the dance floor. Dancing in fake gorilla feet couldn’t be any worse than dancing in heels.
I needed to try on the Jenny Packham gown again. If it was as amazing as I remembered, I would buy it. And I wanted to start gathering ideas for color schemes. Flowers. Music and food. Everything that would make our wedding beautiful—but affordable. The gown would take a big chunk of my wedding fund.
“I wonder if we can put everything together in time for a fall wedding,” I said. “I hate to wait even that long, but I don’t want to steal Alexa’s thunder.”
“What’s her wedding date again?”
“The second Saturday in June, if she and Mom don’t kill each other first. I’m glad I have my own money so I won’t have to do things Mom’s way.”
“What? I’m marrying a rich chick?”
“No, but I started a wedding fund when I was eighteen. It’s not a lot, but it’ll be enough if we focus on the important things, not on all the frou-frou trappings.”
“Sounds good. We don’t want to get trapped in the cogs of the ‘gom.’ ”
“The what?”
“The G-A-W-M,” he spelled. “The Great American Wedding Machine. The industry that bamboozles millions of people into spending their wedding dollars on overpriced merchandise produced by exploited workers.”
I wrinkled up my nose. “Are you going to be a wedding Scrooge?”
“Probably not, but if your mom tries to talk you into all the trappings, tell her no.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It’s only one little syllable. Practice with me, sweetheart—”
“No.”
“Very good.”
“No. I meant—you know what I meant.”
Now he had me laughing again. The conversation deteriorated but the snuggling picked up steam. After a few minutes, we shoved each other away.
I laid my head chastely on his warm chest and enjoyed the steady thudding of his heart. “Did I ever tell you I met the preacher at the secret-garden church?”
“No. Did he run you off?”
“No, he introduced himself as Pastor Michael. We had a nice chat, and he advised me to marry you.”
Gray chuckled. “He’s brilliant, obviously.”
“Yes.” I sighed with contentment. “I can’t wait to marry you, Gray.”
“Likewise.”
“I’ll finally get to change my last name, too. I’ve always hated it.”
“Martin? What’s wrong with that?”
“It sounds like an aerospace company. Ellison Martin. Like Lockheed Martin.”
“Ellison? That’s different. I like it, but I thought Ellie was short for Elizabeth.”
“I never told you my real name?” I straightened up, meeting his eyes. “You know what my mom would say?”
“Sure. She’d say we don’t know each other well enough to get married.”
“Yep.” I leaned against him again. “Maybe we should keep it to ourselves for a while. Give her some time to adjust to the boyfriend-girlfriend stage first.”
“You don’t want to tell her we’re engaged?”
“Or your folks either, to keep things fair. Just for a little while.”
“But I want to tell the world.”
“I do too, but can you imagine telling Mom we’re engaged when we’ve only known each other since February? Can you imagine her reaction?”
“I’m afraid I can.” He laughed. “Maybe we can plan the whole wedding before she even knows we’re engaged.”
That crazy idea brought up a whole new passel of problems, but I had no time to consider them. We were already indulging in a whole new passel of giddy smooches.
Eric and Alexa had found an apartment on the south side of Wynnville. On the last Saturday of April, Mom and I met them there for the grand tour of the empty rooms. The place was old and small, but it had its charms, not the least of which was its distance from Mom’s house.
Mom and I left the lovebirds there with their cleaning supplies and the stars in their eyes, and we headed back to Mom’s house to work in her flower garden. That was part of my plan for patching things up. Taking her to her dress fitting had helped too, although I was still careful not to mention Gray if I didn’t need to.
“Your garden is so beautiful,” I told her, leaning over to smell the last of the late daffodils.
“It’ll be even better when all the roses and peonies come in. I wish Alexa would let me do her bouquet, at least. The florist charges an arm and a leg.”
“You won’t have time. You’ll be too busy being the mother of the bride.”
The mother of two brides, actually. She just didn’t know it yet. I hid a smile, feeling like a shaken-up seltzer bottle about to explode with joy.
Being secretly engaged was the most fun I’d ever had. Gray and I might be anywhere, with anyone, talking about anything from politics to potholes, and suddenly our eyes would meet and we’d struggle to keep from laughing. Sometimes, though, our happy secret didn’t seem real. I would wake in the middle of the night and ask myself if I was delusional. My ring finger was
still bare.
I smiled, remembering Gray’s not-so-subtle attempts to learn my preferences in ring styles. Knowing how frugal he was, I’d dropped hints that I would be happy with something small and simple. I never wore anything flashy.
He set a good example with his frugality. He’d inspired me to get serious about freezing my credit card purchases, no easy task with Alexa’s wedding on the horizon. I’d had to buy my maid-of-honor dress and the expensive undergarments that made it work. Then shoes and jewelry. Shower gifts. A wedding gift. I couldn’t skimp on my baby sister even though I’d had a closing fall through, depriving me of a commission I’d counted on.
“Look at that big ol’ swallowtail,” Mom said.
I turned to see the yellow-and-black butterfly wafting toward us. It hovered indecisively over a red peony, then lit on a spray of small ivory roses.
“Beautiful,” I said.
Ivory roses would be perfect with the Jenny Packham gown. I’d checked on it, and God had heard my prayers. It hadn’t sold yet. I wanted to show it to Mom and convince her that an ivory gown didn’t brand a bride as less than virtuous, but I had to bide my time a little longer—and then let her think I’d just found the dress.
“Alexa’s big day is coming up too soon,” Mom said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll be alone again. At least she won’t be far away. I sure wish you lived close.”
“I’m not far. You should come over sometime. How about this weekend?”
“It’s not the distance. It’s the traffic. Those crazy drivers. That crazy interstate. Every time, I get lost or I nearly get in a wreck.”
“Back when you met Dad, didn’t you drive back and forth all the time?”
“Sure, but it was an easy drive then. I can’t handle I-285 anymore. It’s eighteen lanes wide in some parts, and that one ramp, the high one at Spaghetti Junction—” She shuddered. “It’s ninety feet in the air.”
I suspected she was exaggerating, but I’d never looked it up. “You won’t be anywhere near Spaghetti Junction. Just stay on 78 forever, make a few easy turns, and you’ll be there. Why don’t you come over on Sunday afternoon? I’ll take you to Gray’s apartment so you can see where he lives—it’s just a few blocks away—and then we’ll take you out to eat.”