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Heavens.
Is he…? Suddenly, I get Laney’s earlier word vomit.
‘Jade Nicole Monroe—’
‘Noelle,’ my father mumbles through the fist over his mouth, hiding what he truly thinks about this, but his eyes scream it at me silently.
‘Right.’ Conner points his way apologetically. ‘Noelle, I’m so sorry.’
I lift a single shoulder. What am I supposed to do? Correct him now?
He closes his eyes momentarily, possibly summoning the courage to continue now that he’s made mistakes twice in only a handful of sentences. His eyes snap open, and I can see someone confident, at least momentarily. ‘Jade Noelle Monroe, will you marry me?’
Right then, I choke on nothing but confusion. A coughing fit has him flustered but finally I mumble out the words flashing through my head. ‘Marry you?’
Conner’s face goes from bliss to ‘shit’ in milliseconds. Oops, that came out way more honestly than intended. I did not expect this. We haven’t even talked marriage. But I can’t turn him down like this, publicly. Truthfully, I don’t know if I want to turn him down at all. I love Conner. We’ve both said it. Isn’t this where love goes? To marriage? I mean, why not? Surely he knows we have some details to iron out later, though?
‘What’s your answer?’ Uncle Paul calls from the back of the room.
Paul’s my father’s doppelganger, only three years younger and more ‘angel’ on your shoulder than Dad’s ‘devil’. They like to call each other once a month and send the other on some well-thought-out ridiculous ‘mission’ to pick up something one bought for the other. Once, my dad rode across the city on his Harley only to discover he was picking up a six-foot unicorn stuffie that he then strapped to his waist and rode back into the city with. People honked, and he was spotted on Instagram a few days later looking like he was promoting the upcoming gay pride parade. Now he wants to do a ‘ride’ in the parade in support. Which is the side of my dad that I know. He may look a little Duck Dynasty meets Hells Angels rough, but deep down, he is a six-foot softie.
‘Earth to Jade,’ Laney barks. ‘There are only two answers to that question, big sister.’
Right. My gaze moves to Conner. Sweet Conner, innocently kneeling in front of me after having asked the biggest question of his life, as I stall with confusion while he shits his drawers.
‘Yes!’ I say, with a little jump of enthusiasm. Is there a part of me questioning this? A very tiny whisper that I’m going to smother until later. I just said yes to marrying Conner! Oh my stars. I can’t wait to see the ring! I pull my hand from his, waggling my fingers his way.
He frowns. ‘This was sort of last minute; I went with my gut. So, I don’t have a ring—’
‘Probably because it’s been a day,’ Dad grumbles.
Like my sister, Dad’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself. His personality in list form (most to least important) goes a little like this:
Family
Archibald – his Motorcycle (yep, he named it)
Devil’s Beard (his motorcycle gang)
Motorcycle rallies
Motorcycle TV shows and movies
Tattoos
Duck Dynasty-style facial hair
Frito (the cat he never wanted yet is now having a rabid love affair with) and Starbux (an enthusiastic chocolate and caramel-colored Yorkie my mom so loved – he has a helmet and rides in my dad’s jacket sometimes)
That’s it. There is no chit-chat or other interests with Dad. He says what he needs to say and softens when tears arrive. (He is a man with two daughters; tears sometimes do make an appearance.) He may not always say the exact right thing at first, but he comes around. He’s soft like that and would do anything to see his girls smile.
Since Mom died, he’s been alarmingly quiet. I’ve resorted to asking question after question to pry words out of him. I know what he’s watching on Netflix (In the Dark), that he’s become surprisingly good at crock-potting his own roast, and that he’s watching through all of his old favorite movies. Considering I saw a stack of DVDs pulled from the movie shelf and sitting near the front door–all of mom’s favorite eighties comedy and romcom – I’d say he’s skipping a few. But stubbornly the moment I mention my mom, he shuts down, putting on his usual ‘don’t fuck with me’ mask. ‘We don’t need to relive the past,’ he always says.
Laney and I see right through it. You can’t pretend like your wife of decades didn’t just die. Eventually he’ll have to deal with it, and oh how I dread that day. I’ve been so worried that I call him every night before I go to bed to ensure he’s not slurring his words or over contemplating life. If I’d lost my spouse, that might be where I’d go, so I understand; I just don’t want to chance it. Each night he answers with the same words. ‘Stop worrying, Jadeybug. People die. I know this. I’m fine.’ But I know he’s not fine. He lost his best friend and the love of his life; he’s heartbroken.
‘Even better,’ I say to Conner. ‘You not buying a ring yet means we can shop together.’
‘Y-yeah,’ he stutters. ‘We’ll shop for a ring before I leave.’ He stands, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me off the floor. Sirens and horns congratulating young patrons with wins and the clicking delivery of ‘tickets’ to ‘buy’ a prize at the end of the night echo through the pizza place in a peculiar childhood proposal fantasy way. I don’t think flashing red lights and sirens were ever in those dreams. Those daydreams rarely come to fruition I’ve learned.
