Page 132 of Clinically Awkward

Life was good. Really good.

“So,” Fitz said, sidling up next to me as we walked toward the next hole. “How are things with Vivian?”

“Good,” I said. “Really good.”

“Just good?”

“Great. Things are great.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“I’m being private.”

“You’re being suspicious,” Fitz said, narrowing his eyes. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Quinton.”

“Fitz.”

“QUINTON!”

“Fine,” I said, stopping in the middle of the fairway. “I asked Vivian to marry me.”

Silence. Complete, absolute, deafening silence.

Then: “YOU WHAT?” Nathan dropped his golf club.

“I asked her to marry me,” I repeated. “Last weekend. And she said yes.”

“She said yes?” Gabriel’s face split into a massive grin. “Oh my God, congratulations!”

“YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED?” Fitz looked like I had just told him I was moving to Mars. “You? The man who swore off dating? The man who said marriage was a trap? The man who⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving him off. “I know what I said. Things change.”

“THINGS CHANGE?” Fitz was practically vibrating with excitement. “Mate, this is huge. This is—oh my God, we need to plan the wedding.”

“We’re not planning the wedding right now.”

“We’re absolutely planning the wedding right now.”

“Fitz—”

“First things first,” Fitz said, pulling out his phone. “Venue. You need a venue. Something elegant but not pretentious. Romantic, but not cheesy. I’m thinking⁠—”

“I’m thinking we haven’t even set a date yet,” I interrupted.

“Set a date!” Fitz said immediately. “June. June weddings are classic. Or September. September’s nice. Good weather. Not too hot. Not too cold.”

“We’re not getting married in June or September.”

“October?” Fitz suggested. “Fall colors. Perfect aesthetic. Great for photos.”

“We haven’t discussed⁠—”

“You need a photographer,” Fitz continued, typing furiously on his phone. “And a caterer. And a band. Or a DJ? No, a band. Definitely a band. Something classy. Jazz, maybe? Or⁠—”