Love Connection (A Feel Good Romantic Comedy) Page 12

  I spend half of the day imagining what this big surprise is going to be. So far, Richard hasn’t been the surprise-type. I check the calendar but I haven’t forgotten my birthday or his birthday. It’s just a regular Friday night, nothing special about it. So what’s up with him?

  When I get home, Amelia’s waiting for me with a keen expression on her face.

  “How was your day, honey?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Mostly like any other.”

  “Oh, it’s going to get better.”

  “What do you mean?” Why are people talking in riddles today?

  “There was a delivery for you.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In your room.”

  I dash in my room. An amazing dress is draped on my bed with a Post-it note on it that says, “Wear me.” Next to it, there’s a dock station with another Post-it saying, “Play me.” This is a surprise date version of Alice in Wonderland. What are we celebrating, my Very Merry Unbirthday? I wonder if a white rabbit with a ticking clock is going to make an appearance soon to tell me I’m late, which I kind of am considering it’s already six. Well, at least I won’t have problems choosing what to wear. I’m intrigued. Where’s Richard going with this?

  I push play on the dock station and it’s The Blues Brothers soundtrack. I smile, thinking back on our first date at the film club.

  To the sound of ‘Everybody Needs Somebody To Love’, I hop in the shower while dancing and singing like a maniac. I’ll give it to Richard: he knows how to set the right atmosphere.

  I quickly blow-dry my hair and step back into the room. Now, ‘Do You Love Me?’ is on and I can’t help but shake my booty to the melody.

  “Having fun?” Amelia asks, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Much. Did you see this dress?” I slip it on. “It’s a dream.” It’s a navy midi-length dress with a see-through hem and shoulder straps. It has blue floral appliques and beads all over. It’s gorgeous. “My blue suede pumps will look great with it.”

  “Yeah, I think that was the idea.”

  I twirl in front of the mirror, excited. “What do you say, hair up or down?”

  “Up, but loose. If you give me a comb, a hair band and ten bobby pins I can pull the perfect bun off in five minutes.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  I give her everything she asked for. Amelia starts by backcombing the base of my hair, then pulls the back half in a side ponytail that she transforms into a side bun, and finally, zip-zap, she pins the rest of the hair on the bun in a perfectly-messy fashion. As promised, I’m red carpet ready in five minutes.

  “Wow! This is super. Thank you, Ames.”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  I put eyeliner on, a generous quantity of mascara, blush, and lip-gloss, so that when the bell rings, I’m just about ready.

  I shut off the dock station. “I’m going.”

  “Have a great night.”

  “I will.”

  “And be home by midnight,” Amelia yells jokingly after me. “Or, don’t come back at all.”

  Outside, Richard’s waiting for me next to a black cab, wearing a tux. He looks dashing. As I throw my arms around his neck to kiss him, he hands me a white rose.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I take the rose and smell it. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

  “Shall we go?”

  As I step inside the cab, nerves attack me. Richard has gone to a lot of trouble to organize this night and I have a feeling the surprises aren’t over yet. Suddenly, a horrible thought pops into my mind. He wants to ask me to move in with him. Dylan asked Amelia a while ago and she’s moving out of my apartment soon. But Richard and I are definitely not ready for such a big step; we’ve been dating for as long as they have, but it’s been casual dating, nothing too serious. I throw a side-glance at him and he smiles.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Be patient, we’re going to get there soon.”

  “Haven’t I suffered enough?”

  He buffets my nose with a finger. “Poor you, look at the state of you,” he mocks me.

  “Okay, I’ve definitely had worse days. But you know how curious I am.”

  The cab stops in front of The Dorchester.

  Richard gives me his hand to help me out of the cab.

  “You’re joking,” I say as I stare at the building. “This is the most expensive restaurant in London.”

  “It’s a special night; it called for a special place.”

  “What’s so special about tonight?” I ask, the nagging worry poking again at my stomach. This whole thing is screaming serious relationship, commitment, moving in together. And I’m definitely not ready for all of that. Not yet.

  “I got a promotion today; I wanted to celebrate with you.”

  So this is it. We’re celebrating his promotion. I relax at once. Oh, Richard. He has style.

  The restaurant’s amazing, dinner’s amazing, and Richard’s amazing. We eat a seven-course meal with wine pairing, and by the end of the night, I’m more than a little tipsy. My head’s spinning a bit, so when Richard suddenly gets incredibly serious, I don’t immediately grasp the meaning of what he’s saying.

  “…these have been the best six months of my life. I love you so much, Gemma, I couldn’t contemplate spending a day away from you.”

  I nod my head in assent. This is all very nice. A bit over-dramatic, maybe. But hey, who am I to complain?

  “And this is why I want to make sure I don’t… have to spend a single day away from you.”

  I keep nodding. Where’s he going with this speech? And why is he being so melodramatic? The penny drops when he gets up, rounds the table, and drops to one knee.

  Oh gosh! No, this isn’t happening. Panic clutches my throat and my head starts spinning, for real this time. The entire room is swaying around me. I’m going to be sick. What’s Richard doing on one knee? Well, there aren’t many things a guy in a tux would do down on one knee in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The other patrons gasp, and the entire room stops to watch us.

  I stare at Richard in horror. Is he really doing this? I watch in slow motion as he picks a blue velvet box out of his jacket pocket and opens it. Inside, there’s a ring.

  “Gemma Dawson, will you marry me?”

  I smile a nervous smile; tears prickle my eyes. Not because I’m overwhelmed by joy, but because now I’ll have to break up with him. I can’t marry him. Where did he get the idea that we’re marriage-ready at this point in our relationship? We’ve never even glossed over the topic. Tears stream down my cheeks. I try to speak, but I’m choked with emotions and I can’t.

  “Look how happy she is,” a woman nearby says. “She can’t speak.”

  If only you knew why, lady.

  As I try to speak again, the crowd starts clapping and cheering in support. I look at Richard, his eyes warm with love, his forehead dotted with pearly beads of sweat, and his lips parted in a hopeful smile. I can’t break his heart. I just can’t.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I hear my voice say.

  Richard slides a beautiful solitaire onto my finger and suddenly my hand feels heavier than it has ever been before.

  Seventeen

  Floating Memories

  ♥♥♥

  Friday, March 2—London

  “Oh, you’re home already.” I greet Jake with a kiss. “And you’re cooking?” The apartment smells of grilled meat.

  Jake looks super cute in my pink ‘all about that bake’ apron. (Not that I actually bake, it was a present.)

  “I’m making burgers,” he says.

  “What’s the occasion?” I ask him, immediately afraid I’ve forgotten something important. I’m not the best with dates, anniversaries. Since the rise of smartphones, I manage birthdays well enough, but that’s about it.

  “Oh, nothing special.” Jake comes over to take off my coat and guides
me to the table. “Wine?”

  “Sure.”

  He pours me a glass.

  “Mmm, this is good. What is it?”

  “I thought you’d recognize it.”

  “Should I?”

  “It’s Fumé Blanc.”

  “From Napa?”

  “Meow.” Lucky comes brushing at my legs.

  I put the wine glass back on the table and pick Lucky up. “Oh, and you had a makeover too.” He’s wearing a new red collar with a red bow tied to the top. “You look handsome.”

  “Prrr, mrrr.”

  “Are you sure nothing’s up?” I ask Jake.

  “I’m just in the mood to celebrate. Now sit down, dinner’s ready.”

  One bottle of Fumé Blanc and one delicious burger later, Jake seems to edge on nervous rather than full and pleasantly tipsy like myself.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” I ask.

  Jake gets up. “Come with me.” He grabs my hands to pull me up. “I have a surprise.”

  He drags me to the spare bedroom and opens the door. I walk inside. The room’s filled with floating red and pearly white party balloons.

  “Jake, what’s this?”

  He smiles. “Have a look around.”

  I take a few tentative steps inside the room, noticing various objects dangling from most of the balloons’ ribbons. I grab one and immediately a furious blush spreads over my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands and press it against Jake’s chest to hide.

  “Oh, gosh. You’ve found the Jakebox!”

  “I had a tip-off.”

  “I’m going to strangle that sorry excuse for a best friend. You were never supposed to find it.”

  “Why not? It’s super cute. And I’ve added some things of my own.”

  “You did?” I peep at him from between my fingers.

  “Come on, you should own the Jakebox.” He spins me round and pushes me gently into the room.

  I navigate the balloon maze and each one’s a surprise. A million pictures of us stare back at me, some from the Jakebox and others not. They range from age fifteen up to last week. I find tickets from movie nights, concerts, vacations.

  On the next balloon, I recognize a sheet of crumbled paper Jake passed me in class the first year we started dating. On top, it says, “Prom?” Below are two option-squares, one says, “Yes,” and the other says, “Yes.” I marked both of them and stamped a lipstick kiss underneath.

  “You were already such a charmer,” I say.

  Next, I find a page from my diary.

  “Oh, you didn’t read this!”

  “I soooooo did.”

  I keep moving through the balloons. I find some Post-its. I used to leave them on the bathroom mirror of his house before I left in the years we were living apart. “You kept these!”

  “These were my lifeline. I hated being away from you so much, especially knowing it was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I know I blamed you, but I shouldn’t have.”

  “But if I’d followed you to Boston…”

  “You would’ve hated it. And who knows where we’d be now.” I turn around. “The important thing is that we’re here, now.” I kiss him.

  “Ouch.” Jake pulls back as Lucky starts climbing on his leg to try to get to the balloons’ ribbons.

  “Someone wants to play,” I say.

  “He already helped enough with the setting up.” Jake drops Lucky to the floor where he stares intently at the ribbons, one paw stretched forward menacingly.

  “I bet he did.”

  I scratch him behind the ears and keep walking through the hidden treasures of our past. Some of the heavier items need three of four balloons to keep them afloat. Like a heart-shaped stone we picked up at the beach, or a small bag filled with seashells, and even two golden miniatures of the Little Mermaid from McDonald’s Happy Meals. And a vial filled with sand.

  “Where’s this from?”

  “The lake. My parents’ cabin.”

  I blush.

  “Remember that day?” Jake takes hold of two pictures and shows them to me.

  They’re from the day we lost our virginity together. “Of course.” One is my favorite pic of him. Shirtless, he has one arm raised above his head, braced on a tree branch. He’s wearing a surfer necklace, which he wouldn’t take off for the whole summer. The other pic is of me. I’m not staring at the camera but at the lake. The sun’s shining in my hair as if I were radiating happiness and love. Which I was.

  “I don’t remember this picture,” I say, looking at it.

  “I had this one. It’s my favorite of you.”

  “And this is my favorite of you,” I say, pointing at the other picture. “Remember that necklace I gave you? You never took it off.”

  “Wait, it should be here somewhere.” Jake shuffles some balloons around and finds it.

  “You should put it on.” I take it from him and tie it around his neck. He gives me that same crooked grin, and I’m so full of love, so full of life I might explode.

  Toward the end of the room, I spot a postcard of a beach in Hawaii. Where we promised we’d go for our honeymoon. My heart rate accelerates.

  As I reach the very end of the room, a particularly thick cluster of balloons stands out. My heart jumps into my throat as I notice they’re holding a small jewelry box. Dangling below it, there’s a sheet of paper. I snatch it. It says, “Marry me?” Below are two option-squares; one says, “Yes,” and the other says, “Yes.” I look up from the sheet of paper to find Jake has detached the tiny box and is on one knee in front of me with it open. Tears fill my eyes.

  “Will you…”

  His words are cut off by me barreling into his arms. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

  As I’m kneeling on the floor in front of him, he takes the ring, a breathtaking square sapphire with a diamond halo, out of the box and slides it on my finger. An electrical tingle sparkles where his skin touches mine and my left hand feels so light it could be made of air.

  We lock eyes. “I love you. I want to spend my life with you and fill the Jakebox with so many more memories.”

  I smile and cry at the same time. “I love you so much, I don’t even know how to say it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t talk.” Jake kisses me and I melt in his arms. We make love on the floor with the same passion, the same frenzy, and the same love as our first time.

  Eighteen

  Lattes and Rings

  ♦♦♦

  Saturday, March 3—London

  The day after proposal-gate, I leave Richard’s house as soon as I can without appearing too ungrateful, saying I want to share the good news with my friends and family and feeling like an impostor all along. I ask Amelia to meet me at a Starbucks near our house, hoping that coffee and my best friend will help me find a solution. A way out, my treacherous brain thinks. So here I am sharing the ‘good’ news over lattes.

  “So what is the big announcement you had to drag me out of bed on a Saturday for?” Amelia isn’t a morning person; Dylan’s trying to change that.

  “Richard proposed,” I say flatly.

  “Aw,” she squeaks. “That’s wonderful, amazing. I can already picture him looking dashing in a tux, and you glowing in your white gown. Let me see the ring.”

  She grabs my left hand, but the ring isn’t there. I took it off the moment I left Richard’s house.

  “Why aren’t you wearing it? Was it too big? You need to re-size it?”

  “No, it fits me just fine. Here it is.” I take it out from an inside pocket in my bag.

  “This is beautiful.” Amelia looks at the ring then at my face. “Wait, if it fits, why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “I was afraid of losing it,” I lie.

  “It’s not any safer in your bag. Put it on.”

  I do and stare at my hand questioningly.

  “Why aren’t you giddy with happin
ess?” Amelia asks. “You said yes, didn’t you?”

  “Mmm-mmm.”

  “So, what’s wrong?”

  “It was an ambush. I was forced to say yes.”

  A girl sitting next to us scoffs. We turn toward her, but she’s steadily looking at her iPad and not at us, so we go back to our conversation.

  “What do you mean you were forced to say yes?” Amelia is giving me a no-crap look. “Nobody held a gun to your head, I’m sure.”

  “Amelia, he asked me in a room full of people after the most romantic night ever. How could I have said no? I was cornered, I panicked!”

  “So you said yes out of politeness?”

  “At first I couldn’t speak, I was too shocked. I wanted to say no. I wanted to ask him, ‘What the hell? We never even discussed moving in together, what made you think I was ready for marriage?’ But Richard was looking at me as if I were the most beautiful thing in the world, with his eyes full of love, and I just couldn’t say no. I couldn’t break his heart.”

  “Because you love him. You’re just freaked out by the marriage thing.”

  “I care about Richard, he’s wonderful. But I never thought about him as The One, the love of my life, Mr. Right. Call it what you like. I mean, who proposes after six months?”

  The girl next to us lets out an even louder snort. I can’t ignore it this time.

  “Excuse me, you have a problem?”

  “Actually, yes, I do.” She stops pretending to be watching her iPad and turns toward us. “Do you have any idea how rare it is to have a bloke ask you to marry him these days?”

  “Err, no.”

  “No, exactly, you don’t. All guys want to do nowadays is to Tinder you one night and never see you again. And honestly, having to sit here and listen to you complain about your—according to her,” she points at Amelia, “dashing boyfriend proposing after the—according to you,” she points back at me, “most perfect romantic night, is boggling my mind.”

  “Nobody asked you to listen in to our conversation,” I point out.

  “Hard not to when you’re babbling aloud two feet away from me. You’ve ruined my breakfast. Are you happy?” She gets up and storms out of the coffee shop.