At some point, when we’re deep into a debate about whether crisps belong in sandwiches—which theyabsolutely do—and multiple drams of whisky down, Eleanor reaches over and pats my hand, ‘You’re good for him, you know.’
I’ve never been described as good for anything. Well, not outside the bedroom. ‘I am?’
‘Oh yes. He’s happy.’ She eyes the kitchen where he’s heaving cake onto plates. ‘And I’ve waited a long time to see him happy again.’
We give in to the telly as the evening grows darker, Roman looping an arm over my shoulder on the sofa as we watch Only Connect, failing to answer very many of the questions.
‘What do you think?’ he whispers as Eleanor nods off in her chair.
‘I think you’re very lucky to have such a wonderful woman in your corner.’
Roman’s ears go pink.
‘In our corner,’ he mumbles, before brushing his lips over mine.
FORTY-ONE
ROMAN
The emerald ringis burning a hole in my pocket the longer it stays there. It took me months to find one that reminds me of the green of Maggie’s eyes.
It’s been stuck in the fiddly little velvet box for two weeks, as I try to figure out the perfect way to ask Maggie to spend the rest of her life with me. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed that I’d be ready to ask an amazing woman to commit to spending her life with me. And far less that there was a realistic chance of her saying yes.
The park is bustling tonight, the low autumnal sun glittering through the red and gold leaves. Maggie’s fingers entwine with mine, and I never tire of the way they fit just right. I couldn’t wait to have that band of precious metal right there. To promise Maggie that I’ll worship her until the day I die.
‘I can’t wait to see the parakeets,’ Maggie says as wewalk, unaware of the nerves roiling through me while I prepare to propose. I want everything to be perfect.
‘I’m sure they can’t wait to see you either.’ I love indulging her love of animals. Whether feathered or furred. Our walks were always interspersed with the smooshing of dog faces or Maggie pulling bags of seeds from the pocket to feed the birds.
She has a soft spot for the small green parrots that have made London their home. The bench near their favourite tree may as well have dips shaped like our asses for the amount of hours we whittle away there.
I smile as my lock screen springs to mind. Maggie looks like the bird lady from Home Alone, but instead of pigeons, she’s surrounded by a cloud of feathered green. I love it.
I love her. It had taken a long time to admit to myself that it was love. My idea of it was so disjointed from my past that when it washed over me, I doubted it to be true.
The love is so different from the only love I really remember having. My Gran. It was hard to know that what I was feeling for Maggie was what love is. Desire was there. And obsession, too. And when I wasn’t with her, she was all I thought about. It had taken me a while to convince myself that it wasn’t just infatuation, and even longer to believe that Maggie could actually feel love for me.
Maggie is chatting about the birds as we stroll. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes are sparkling. It’s likevitality bubbles out of her, filling my world with a colour it had sorely lacked.
We still haven’t said theI love yous.Even six months on from the day I baked her cookies and asked her to start again.
Not because I don’t feel it now, I do. But because it took me so long to understand my feelings, I don’t know how to make it happen. Knowing Maggie’s family, I don’t think it was particularly prevalent for her either growing up.
I don’t want the first time I say it to be when I ask her to marry me. I want her to know that I mean it, and not just that it’s something that should be said.
‘Maggie,’ I say, stopping and tugging her hand until she turns to face me, her brows drawn quizzically.
‘All okay?’ she asks.
‘Yeah.’ I swallow down the lump in my throat. What if she doesn’t say it back? ‘I have something I want to say to you.’
Her teeth graze her lower lip. ‘You can say anything to me.’
‘I know. I’ve been looking for the right time, but I’m not sure when it will appear.’
She steps closer to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and planting a kiss on the end of my nose. ‘If you’re talking about what I think you are, I’ve been trying to figure out when as well. God, we’re a mess, aren’t we?’
‘You’re my mess, and I wouldn’t have you any otherway.’ My breath is shaky as I lose myself in her eyes, the sun glinting off her glasses.
