by Dean Hughes
Dad was waiting, too, so Bobbi pulled away from Mom and turned to him. He seemed unsure what to do, so Bobbi stepped to him and put her arms around him. He hugged her and said, “You couldn’t have done any better, Sis.”
“Did you two have a nice chat?” she asked him.
“We did. I bargained for two yoke of oxen and a new wagon, but all I got was a pair of goats and an ol’ yeller dog.”
Bobbi stepped back and gave her dad a little slug on the shoulder. “I’m worth a new Hudson, if you ask me,” she said.
“That’s what he said, but I told him he had to pay me.”
She punched him again. At the same time, Phil bent down toward LaRue. “You know,” he said, “if you’re going to be my sister-in-law, you ought to be giving me a hug too.”
LaRue stepped forward willingly, and Phil picked her up, gave her a big squeeze, and then set her back down. She looked a little flustered by that, but she said, “I thought you had to be old to be a sister-in-law,” and everyone laughed.
Beverly had gotten up now, and she was waiting for her own hug. “What am I?” she asked.
“You’ll be my little sister-in-law,” Phil said, and he picked her up, too. She looked wonderfully pleased when she landed, her face red and her eyes glowing with adoration.
And so it was settled. Everyone had been hugged, and Phil had a plan to formalize the proposal. He had a good sense for such things, for looking after details and making everything just right. Bobbi knew she would always be able to depend on him to handle life with style and propriety—something she didn’t do nearly so well.
“Well, now, if you’ll excuse us,” Phil was already saying, smiling, looking good, using that wonderful, gentle voice of his, “we have some unfinished business ourselves.”
“Business?” Wally said. “What do you have to do, write up a contract?” Bobbi felt the words shoot through her, but then she let them go. She didn’t want anything to bother her tonight.
Phil gave her his arm, led her to the car, opened the door for her, and then hurried around to the driver’s side. Once he had positioned himself behind the wheel and started the engine, he turned to her and said, “I just love your family.”
“Even Wally?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, yeah. He’s a swell kid. He’ll grow out of that silliness.”
“I hope not,” Bobbi said rather curtly, but she told herself immediately to be careful. She slid across the seat so she was close to Phil.
“I love you, sweetheart,” Phil said, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he shifted the gears, twisted to look over his shoulder, and backed out of the driveway. He had never called her anything like that before. This was part of the new condition, Bobbi supposed, the new relationship. But Bobbi didn’t think she could call him “honey” or “dear” or any of those pretty little names.
“I want to take you to my house so we can tell my parents,” Phil said, once he was driving. “But let’s do that later. I have dinner reservations coming up in about”—he checked his watch—”twenty minutes. This is working out just right.”
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d go to the Empire Room at the Hotel Utah. The food is good, I’m told, and they have dancing—Ray Bradford and His Orchestra. Is that all right with you?”
“Sure.”
“Is something the matter?”
“No. Not at all.”
He patted her leg—something he had also not done before.
“I do want to talk to you about one thing,” Bobbi said. She had planned to wait until later, but now she knew she wanted to get this worked out before she had the ring on her finger.
“Sure. What is it?”
Bobbi hadn’t thought this out in words, so she hardly knew where to start. She took her hat off and set it on her lap. At the same time, a car in front of them slowed, and Phil had to brake and then shift gears. Bobbi used all this to stall, to think, but no words came to her mind until she actually began to speak. “I want to finish college, Phil. It’s important to me. And if we get married too soon, I’m afraid I never will. I mean, never will go back. Or never . . .” She stopped, tried to think. “I just want to wait until then.”
“Until when?”
“Couldn’t we wait until I graduate? I’m not even twenty yet, so that would—”
“Bobbi, what are you talking about? That’s two years.” She had tried to think how he would react, but she was surprised by the strength of his response, the harshness in his voice.
“I know that. But lots of people are engaged that long. My aunt was engaged the whole time my uncle was on his mission.”
“Well, sure. He was gone. But I can’t . . . I mean, two years would be way too long.”
“I don’t see why, Phil.”
“Bobbi, think about it.” But he couldn’t seem to find a way to say it. “I was thinking this fall wouldn’t be too soon.”
“Then what do I do about college?”
“Why is that so important, Bobbi? Dad’s willing to see me the rest of the way through law school. After that, I’ll make a good living. I can support you just fine. Why do you need a college degree?”
“I don’t need it, necessarily.”
“Then why bother? You won’t have to work—I’ll see to that.”
“It’s something I want to do,” Bobbi said. “I made up my mind about that a long time ago.” She leaned away from him with her hand on the seat, bracing herself.
“Well, listen. Why couldn’t we get married, and then you could keep going—at least for a while?”
“I’d probably have a baby, and that would be that.”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s better than being a mother?”
But Bobbi had a notion about herself, had had it since she was a little girl. She had read about Helen Keller and Madame Curie. She admired Eleanor Roosevelt. And that’s how she thought of herself—a woman who could do something.
“I do want to be a mother,” Bobbi finally said. “I just want to finish college first. Maybe we could get married when I’m a senior, when I only have a few months to go—six months, or something like that.”
“That’s still a year and a half from now. Bobbi, come on. We’re in love. How can we wait that long?”
Bobbi knew what that meant. But she had never felt the urgency that she sensed from him. He never got out of line, but sometimes when they kissed, he held her very close and then pushed himself away in an act of obvious self-control. It was something she wondered about. Why didn’t she feel the same ache? She actually longed to feel that way, had imagined sometimes that she would someday have that kind of need for someone.
“Bobbi, I can wait. But not two years. Not even a year and a half.”
“So what are you saying? You’re the one who decides?”
Phil turned onto State Street and drove north, with both hands on the wheel. Bobbi knew he was angry. She saw the little muscle by his ear form a lump as he clenched his jaw. She almost wished he would explode, really fight with her. “Bobbi,” he finally said, “I don’t know how to say this. I don’t want to sound like a tough guy. But I do think, before we get married, we both need to know who wears the pants in the family.”
“I have a nice new pair of slacks. You told me they look good on me.”
“Bobbi, this isn’t funny. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes. I know exactly. You want to make my decisions for me.” She was being nasty now, and she knew it, but he might as well know what he was up against.
“I didn’t say that, and you know it. But I am going to be the patriarch in our family. I am expected to lead.”
“Oh, yes sir. Just command me and I will obey.” She slid a little farther away.
Phil took a long breath, held it longer than seemed possible, and then gradually let it seep out. “Bobbi, you’ve never talked to me like this before.”
“And you? You’ve never talked to me this
way. This is the first I’ve heard about you being my boss.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“‘Patriarch’ doesn’t mean you rule—that’s what a boss does.”
“Who leads your family?”
“My dad—more than he should. Mom ought to stand up to him more often than she does.”
Phil turned now, took a good look into Bobbi’s eyes, but she didn’t blink. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You haven’t been raised this way.”
Bobbi felt the guilt—more than she wanted to. “Phil, come on. I’m not trying to steal your pants from you. You can patriarch me all you want, but you can’t make decisions by yourself and tell me to like it or lump it.”
“Do you really think I would do that?”
No. She didn’t. But it took her the better part of a minute to talk herself into saying, “I’m sorry, Phil. I know you aren’t that way. But our first decision is to set a date for our wedding, and I don’t want to get married right away. I can’t just say, ‘Whatever you think’ when I feel that way.”
Phil was nodding, thinking. “Listen, honey, I think we need to talk this through—maybe get our parents’ opinions, and—”
“No.”
“What?”
“You know what my dad would say. So would yours.”
“And maybe for good reason.”
“I don’t care. All you patriarchs are not going to get together and overrule me.”
“Bobbi! What a thing to say.”
And she knew it. She was being irreverent, and even though she rather liked the feel of it, in the long run she
couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Phil, I really am. But if a girl has a right to determine anything, she ought to be able to choose her own wedding date.”
“Why can’t we decide together?” Phil was driving more slowly all the time, seeming not to concentrate on the car, and the traffic was streaming past them.
“We can, I guess. But I’m not going to be pushed into going ahead with it this fall.”
“Fine. I can live with that. But I can’t live with two years. Can’t we find some middle ground?”
“I don’t know.”
Phil braked, gently, for a red light. “Well, okay,” he said. “This will be our first challenge. We’ll learn about talking things out and finding answers. We’ll ask the Lord, for one thing. We really should have done that already.”
And yet, even that bothered Bobbi. She had the feeling that once all the patriarchs got lined up with Mom and Phil’s mom—and they started claiming that God was voting on their side—she would get steamrollered.
But what was she thinking? The Lord should strike her down this instant. Why couldn’t she just be happy she had found such a good man? And thankful. There were beautiful girls at the U who were crazy with jealousy that Bobbi—freckle-faced little Bobbi—had managed to harvest the pick of the crop. She slid back and took Phil’s arm. “I don’t mean to be difficult,” she said. “Maybe I have to get used to the idea. It’s all a big adjustment for me.”
And with that, she saw Phil’s chest rise, his chin come up. He was the pants-wearer, after all. Bobbi couldn’t help being annoyed by his satisfaction, but she told herself that she loved him, and that she would make this work.
“It is a big adjustment,” he said kindly. “But we’ll know when it’s right. And I promise you, Bobbi, I’ll treat you like an angel. I always will. That’s what you are to me, and I could never treat you any other way.”
So what was all that business about wearing the pants? Bobbi wondered. But she said nothing more. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I know you’ll treat me right,” she said. “I just hope I’ll treat you the way I should.”
“Hey, you’re feisty, all right. But it’s one of the things I like about you.”
“Phil, I feel like I’m walking into a dark tunnel, and I don’t know who I’ll be when—and if—I get to the other end. I’ve always thought for myself, and I don’t want to give that up. Can you understand that?”
“Of course, honey. A man feels those things too. I like my independence as much as the next guy. But I want to be one flesh with someone I love. And I want to create a posterity. It’s a beautiful thing, Bobbi—the greatest thing there is in life.”
Bobbi believed all that, always had. But why did he make it sound so . . . functional?
He patted her leg again and then left his hand on her thigh. “You’re just a little frightened of having a man in your bed. There’s a lot to get used to.”
Bobbi sat up straighter, moved her head away from his shoulder.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like that. I’ll always be tender with you. I promise that, too.”
Bobbi didn’t doubt that either. But she didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think at all.
At the Hotel Utah she ate her dinner, made light conversation, and danced. Phil was a wonderful dancer, smooth, and when he held her close, she nestled against him. The band was lovely and the room magnificent. The beautiful gold leafing, the dark woodwork, the crystal chandeliers, the medieval murals high up on the walls—it was all perfect, and she tried to take it in so she would never forget it.
Then, when Phil walked her across the street to Temple Square and led her to a lonely bench, she saw all of his planning, and she couldn’t help smiling. He knelt on one knee and asked her, “Bobbi, will you marry me, here, in this temple, for time and all eternity?”
“Yes, I will,” she said softly, almost delicately. Then she leaned over and gave him a little kiss.
He got out the ring then—the one they had chosen together. “I had the jeweler put a few more diamonds in the arrangement—more than we originally talked about,” he said. “I just felt you deserved something as beautiful as you are.”
And the ring was pretty—with a large diamond in the
middle and lots of smaller stones. It was going to knock her friends’ eyes out. Bobbi felt a surge of excitement. Phil kissed her again, then held her for a long time. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” he whispered.
The two walked back across the street. Bobbi was shivering by now, the evening having become cool. Phil took off his suit coat and dropped it over her shoulders, wrapping his arm around her. Then they got into Phil’s car and drove to his parents’ house. Bobbi hugged her new in-laws-to-be, including Phil’s teenaged brothers, laughed at their teasing, felt touched by Phil’s mother’s tears, and leaned her head on Phil’s shoulder once again on the way home. She was relieved to know that her inner struggles were over. Her fears had been natural enough—cold feet—but now she felt secure. She had done the right thing, and when she did that, things always worked out fine.
But after he had kissed her at the door, held her for a long time again, and professed his love one more time, she wondered why she hadn’t found the voice to say the same to him. And when she walked upstairs, she was sorry to see that Wally was home and that his door was open—as though he were waiting for her.
She tried to walk softly and go straight to her room, but Wally heard her and came out, wearing his old green pajamas. “Sis, are you okay?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Did he give you the ring?”
She stretched her hand out. She had thought of waking her parents and showing them—she knew they expected it. But she had decided they could see it in the morning.
“Wow, that’s a lot of stones. That much weight is going to stretch your arm.”
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Wally, that one night I talked to you, I was just in a bad mood—and sort of upset with him. But we’ve worked everything out. I’m really happy now.”
“You don’t seem all that happy, if you want to know the truth.”
“I’m just thinking about everything. It’s a happy event, but it’s also sacred. I’m just feeling r
eally thankful and pleased.”
“Well, okay. That’s good. But it seems like it ought to be exciting, too.”
“Oh, it is. I’m excited. Really. But it’s one thing to think about getting married when you’re a little girl. It’s something else to know you’re grown up, and you have to take on the responsibilities that come with marriage.”
Wally gave her a curious look, as though the words didn’t sound right to him. The light was shining behind him from his room. It silhouetted his messy hair, and it caught his eyes enough to show his confusion, but he didn’t raise any questions. “Well, anyway,” he said, “I hope you’re going to be really happy and everything.”
“What about you? Are you going to be happy?”
“Sure. I’m always happy.”
“Is Dad still upset with you for quitting track?”
“Sure he is. But he’s never said another word about it. And personally, I think it’s the smartest thing I ever did. I’m just trying to live the Word of Wisdom—not do things that hurt my body. And trust me, running hurts.”
“Wally, I used to think you were the most transparent kid who ever lived. But you’ve gotten complicated. I can’t figure you out anymore.”
“Nothing to figure out,” Wally said. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t seem fine to Bobbi. “Why are you being so nice to me? I’m getting married, not dying.”
“I’m all choked up.” Now he was grinning. “Once you’re gone, I get to ship Gene down the hall. That’s a wonderful moment in a guy’s life—when he gets his own room.”
“Yeah, I’ve had mine for a long time. Now I have to let some guy move in. I hope he picks up his dirty socks.”
“That’s your job. Men have important things to do.”
Bobbi turned and walked away. “That’s how you men think, too,” she said.
“Not Phil. He bows and scrapes for you.”