The Love Proposal, page 13
To Summer
This day is the worst
Little chance of getting her to reply, as I’m sure phones are also banned on the female side of the spa, but what can I say? I’m an optimist by nature.
Half an hour later, while I lie in a chaise sipping my third herbal tea of the day, a soft vibration shakes my pocket. I check the screen and see with a jolt of pleasure that it’s a text from Summer.
From Summer
Why? Did your massage suck or something?
Leaning on my side to shelter the phone from view with my back, I compose a quick reply.
To Summer
No, I was talking about food. I had to eat those stupid raisins at breakfast and now all they’re giving me to drink is herbal tea
From Summer
Herbal tea is actually good for you. But I get why you’re not a fan of raisins
To Summer
They’re the worst invention ever made
Why would someone in their right mind take nice grapes and turn them into shriveled-down dead droppings set free into the world to ruin all the best foods?
Summer sends me an emoji of a crying and laughing cat.
From Summer
I hate them only when I grab a cookie thinking it’s chocolate chips and find raisins instead
To Summer
Oh, that’s the worst
How’s the spa day going?
From Summer
I snuck into the locker room
I already had my massage and if I stayed in a Jacuzzi any longer I’d be sprouting gills
To Summer
Can you get away unnoticed?
From Summer
Why? Can you?
To Summer
Say the word and I’m outta here
I delete the answer and re-type it three times. I stare at it, letting my thumb hang over the send button. Am I making a mistake here?
“Sir?” A spa attendant approaches me with a tray. “Would you like more tea?”
I turn to look over my shoulder, doing my best to keep my phone hidden under my chaise, and shake my head. “No, thanks.”
If I drink any more tea I’ll turn into a tea bag myself.
Without thinking, I hit send and wait for Summer’s reply.
From Summer
Let me check where my sister’s at real quick
The screen remains black for a few unbearably long minutes before another series of texts arrive in rapid succession.
From Summer
Winter is getting her massage now
Then she has a facial, waxing, and a full mani-pedi booked
She’ll be busy for hours
My room or yours?
15
SUMMER
The massage and spa day were relaxing, but not as relaxing as Archie taking care of me multiple times afterward.
I stretch in bed, unwilling to get up, but I must.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Mmm?” Archie raises his head from its resting spot on my chest. “Why?”
“Another lovely dinner with my parents.”
Technically, this should’ve been a meal for both the bride’s and groom’s families, but since Logan sadly lost his parents young, my dad will be the sole host.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, dropping his chin just below my collarbone, “it’s on the schedule.”
I look down at him. “You mean your schedule, too?”
Archie’s hands move to my sides, threatening to tickle me. “Don’t tell me you’ve muted the WhatsApp group again?”
To be honest, lately, I haven’t paid much attention to anything on my phone except for Archie’s texts. “I might’ve. Why?”
“The entire wedding party is invited.”
“Oh, you’re going to meet my parents.” I say the words before thinking of their meaning and immediately retract them. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Relax,” he says. “No one knows about us; all the heat will be on the groom.”
He’s right, and I have no reason to be nervous. But I still am… At least, until Archie’s hands start to play a very different game from tickle monster, moving down from my sides to my hips while he kisses my neck.
“Do you think we have time for another—”
“No,” I say, before he can convince me to be late. “I have to go back to my room, shower, and get ready.”
He bites my earlobe. “We could shower together.”
It takes all my force of will to resist the temptation and get out of bed, but I have to. I already left the spa early. If I’m late to dinner, I worry Winter will suspect I’m up to something.
I end up being so on time that only my parents are seated at the table when I arrive at the restaurant. We’re at the fancy one tonight. A separate building from the main hotel, with an English countryside décor: all dark woods and fabric-shaded table lamps.
Tucker arrives next. Then Lana, the happy couple, and last but not late, Archie. At first, I don’t recognize him as he walks toward our table. He’s dressed ridiculously primly, clad in a pair of white jeans and a light-blue V-neck sweater. Tonight’s fantasy would be: member of a nineties boy band. If nineties boy bands ever allowed for beards. Mmm, I’m not sure about this one. The good-boy look is weird on him. But—and this is a big but—it’s the perfect outfit a boyfriend would wear to meet his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.
And I have to stop thinking like that. Yes, the guy I’ve been sleeping with for the past few days will have dinner with my parents tonight, but he definitely isn’t here in a boyfriend capacity.
“Hello, Dawson’s Creek,” my sister greets him, probably sharing my idea that his clothes look out of character. “Where did you leave your E.T. poster? In your bedroom next to Jurassic Park and Jaws?”
“Oh, come on, Snowflake, you must know my favorite Spielberg movies are the Indiana Jones,” he quips right back, and am I irked he has a nickname for my sister but not for me? Would I like him to call me buttercup, cupcake, sunflower? Honestly, no, yikes. “You’re the most glowing bride as always,” Archie concludes.
His smile is wide and charming, and his manners impeccable, especially as he rounds the table to shake my father’s hand and kiss my mom’s after officially introducing himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to impress my parents. Mom, for one, has melted at the hand-kissing.
He finally sits down at the only free spot left between Lana and Winter, across the table from me. I’m in between Tucker, who has Logan on his other side, and my dad, who’s also sitting next to my mom.
Once it’s clear we’re not expecting anyone else, the server, who has been looming close by since I arrived, brings our menus and asks if we’re ready to order drinks. I sure am, and ask for an apple martini. If I have to endure an entire dinner with Archie and my parents seated at the same table, I need something stronger than wine or beer.
Everybody at the table is pretty chatty, allowing me to take a back seat in the conversation and cull my nerves in private, while doling out the odd comment here and there.
After delivering our drinks, the server comes back shortly afterward to take everyone’s orders. I go with the Asian-style tuna steak, while I note Archie orders a bone-in fillet.
Dad is charged with choosing the wine for the table, not because he has any specific competence on the subject, but by simple merits of seniority.
The server has just left with the table’s orders when Logan’s phone starts ringing. He takes it out of his pocket and checks the screen, his eyes going wide. But he’s quick to hide the surprise as he silences the phone and puts it face down on the table.
But not two minutes later, the phone starts vibrating again.
“Darling,” my mom says. “Don’t worry, if it’s something important you can take the call.”
“Nah, it’s an international call.” Logan squirms in his chair. “Could be work; I’ll call back later.”
“International? Couldn’t it be one of your guests needing something?” my mom asks. “Have they all arrived?”
Still uneasy, Logan says, “No, but I’m sure it’s not one of my guests.”
“How can you know?”
“Country code. We don’t have anyone coming in from North Africa.”
Winter, voice cold as ice, asks, “Which country in North Africa are they calling from?”
Her fiancé holds the phone in one hand while scratching the back of his head with the other as he replies, “Egypt.”
A wave of discomfort ripples through the table.
Ah.
After she came back from Thailand, Winter told me everything about Logan’s ex, Tara Something. She’s a hard-ass archeologist who made a monumental discovery in the Valley of Kings in Egypt and who’s still living in Africa. We spent an entire afternoon Google-stalking her, and I suspect my sister even bought her book, a non-fiction account of her discovery, and read it.
The phone goes silent only to start vibrating again a second later.
My dad inches his chin toward it. “Seems like they really need to talk to you?” Then he turns to the table. “Isn’t it like what, the middle of the night in Egypt?”
“Must be dawn,” Logan says. “Excavation work starts early.” He peers at the insistently vibrating phone and adds, “Maybe I should get this in private. I wouldn’t want to disturb you all.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” my mom says, oblivious to the underlying tension between the bride and groom-to-be.
Winter hasn’t spoken since the word “Egypt” crossed Logan’s lips, and she’s now giving him the stare of death, daring him to get up and go talk to his ex in private.
Desperate, Logan stares at his best friend for help. Archie gives him a subtle shake of the head that I interpret as a, “No, dude, you’d better keep your ass glued to that chair if you want to speak with your ex who you haven’t heard from in years.”
Logan must understand the same unspoken message because, with a resigned sigh, he picks up. “Hello.”
“Hey.”
Tara’s is a simple greeting, but the tone is loaded with familiarity and a shared past. Unfortunately for the groom, the voice on the other side is loud enough for everyone at the table to hear and pick up on these details. Also, we’re all keeping a religious silence as we shamelessly eavesdrop on the conversation. And even if we weren’t, I suspect Winter would kill anyone who dared utter a sound in cold blood.
“Err, how have you been?” Logan asks.
“Oh, you know,” Tara says. “Busy. Lots of cataloging going on, and the work on the new museum is crazy. I’ve switched the exposition around a thousand times to find the perfect order of presentation and still can’t decide, even if I know patrons won’t care or notice that much,” she rants on, clearly nervous. “You must have the same troubles in Thailand.”
Logan lets out an awkward chuckle. “Oh, no. We got lucky; the government threw a boatload of money at us and we’re just working on opening the final wing of the exposition.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Tara says. I look at my sister’s face, and it’s like Winter has turned to stone. “From what I’ve heard, it’s magnificent.”
“I hope so,” Logan says, the portrait of a man who’d gladly crawl out of his skin.
Silence stretches on the line until Tara speaks again. “I heard congratulations are in order. You’re getting married?”
The question seems to be loaded, in a “have you truly forgotten about me?” way.
“Yes,” Logan says, staring directly at my sister, “to the most wonderful woman on Earth, the day after tomorrow.”
Another protracted pause, and then Tara speaks in a small voice, “Well, as I said, congratulations. I have to go now; they need me at the museum. Goodbye, Logan.”
The ex hangs up before he has time to reply, prompting the entire table to let go of a collective breath of relief.
Logan turns to Winter. “I’m sorry,” he says. “She hasn’t called me in years. I thought something bad might’ve happened.”
My sister swallows and nods. “It’s okay,” she says. “I just feel sorry for her.”
“Why?” Logan asks, looking puzzled.
“Because Tara has realized she was the dumbest cow to dump you for a stupid pharaoh’s tomb, and now she’s too late.”
They kiss. And it’s not a chaste peck on the lips. It’s a real, deep, long kiss that prompts my dad to cough and hide his face in his napkin.
They’re so in love, it’s disgusting. I can’t help but steal a glance at Archie, and find him observing me. When our eyes meet, he winks, causing my stomach to do a silly little flip.
And I have such a crush, I’m disgusting.
When the betrothed couple finally break their kiss, my sister’s good mood seems completely restored.
Winter places her napkin on her legs, asking, “What are you guys all doing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, on edge. “Friday is a free day, right?” This afternoon, Archie and I made plans to have lunch in Yountville, and maybe visit a vineyard or brewery together. And I don’t want Winter’s well-meaning desire for conviviality to ruin the plan. “We don’t have any mandatory activities.”
I flash a panicked stare at Archie, and if eyes could talk, his would be saying, “Sheesh, woman, be cool.”
On his left, Winter pouts. “I’m sorry a mandatory spa day has been so hard on you. Where did you disappear to, anyway?”
“I had a work call,” I lie.
“I thought phones weren’t allowed.”
“No, but I went to the locker room to check my messages and had to call the office back.”
“So, what are you doing with your free day, then? More work?” She’s being passive-aggressive.
“No, I just planned on seeing the sights. Nothing in particular.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes,” I say, equally passive-aggressive. “I need some me time.”
Thank goodness our food arrives, and the topic of tomorrow is soon forgotten.
After that, dinner continues with no more incidents. My mom, miraculously, doesn’t even mention The Mistake at all. Guess my apologies at least worked on her. For the first time in forever, I’m able to end a meal with my family without feeling like a filthy cockroach who let all of them down. I’m feeling even a little optimistic about the future.
I look up at Archie who’s also looking at me. Every time I’ve gazed in his direction tonight, his eyes have been on me. Is it because of him that I’m feeling this new confidence? Because I’ve known that no matter what, there’d be someone at the table 100 per cent on my side?
And will I be able to keep believing in myself next week when he’ll be gone? Yes, I feel like something in me has healed for good this week, but I’ll sure miss his hands, and his mouth, and, yeah, his Princess Sofia. But I’m afraid what I’ll miss the most will be his heart, even if it’s never been mine.
I finish my wine and put the thought away. We still have three more nights together.
We’re waiting for the desserts when Tucker’s phone pings. He reads the text, and I swear he blushes.
“Sorry,” he says, standing up. “I have to go, there’s an emergency with the… uh… flower delivery.”
“This late at night?” Mom asks. “What could it possibly be?”
Winter goes into bridezilla mode at once. “Is it serious? Fixable?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker waves her off. “Nothing I can’t solve with a phone call, but I’d better go now. Can you ask them to put my share of dinner on my room? I’m in 451.”
The room next to Archie, I realize with a swallow. I hope the walls are thick.
Dad waves his request down. “Don’t be silly, young man, tonight’s dinner’s on me. And thank you again for all the hard work you’ve put into organizing the perfect wedding for my daughter.”
“No trouble at all, sir. Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Tucker says goodbye one last time and walks out of the restaurant, leaving the rest of us to endure at least another hour of chit-chat before we can make our escape.
The bill arrives exactly seventy-five minutes later, not that I’m counting. Dad puts it on his room tab, and we get up to walk toward the elevators. The six of us can all fit inside, so we all go in one trip. Archie and I strategically keep to the back on opposite corners. Thankfully, Winter and Logan are on the first floor and my parents are on the second.
The moment the elevator doors ding shut after my parents have gone, it’s as if someone has shouted, “Ready, steady, go!” Archie and I fly into each other’s arms and kiss like two people who’ve been eye-flirting for the past three and a half hours and can’t wait to tear their clothes off.
When the elevator doors swish open, I make to follow Archie outside but bump into a solid wall of muscled back instead.
“What’s up?” I ask, peering around his shoulder.
“That sneaky weasel,” Archie whispers. “Flower emergency, my ass. Looks like Tucker is banging that actor’s assistant. I called it, didn’t I?”
“What? Are you sure? How can you tell?”
“They’re making out outside his room.”
“Let me see.” I peek my head forward between the elevator doors, which have already tried to close on us twice.
Down the hall, Penny is leaving Tucker’s room, but the goodbye is taking forever. They’re kissing on the threshold, making out like a pair of horny teenagers. We can’t go into Archie’s room with them in the hallway and risk being spotted.
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