The next two drawers contain my mixing equipment and the various things I use to make my music. I could leave my equipment out since I don’t have to worry about a roommate messing with my stuff or anything like that, but it’s easier to keep my side gig secret if I don’t have evidence of it all over my room.
I take a few seconds to scan my CDs, then grab one of my comfort listens and load it into the player. The heavy beat of one of Three Days Grace’s early albums fills the room, and some of my unease melts away as the familiar notes pulse through my speakers. I crank the music up just because I can, then sink down on the edge of my California king bed just as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, expecting a text from one of my sisters, but it’s from West.
West is a year younger than me, and we met at boarding school when we were assigned to the same dorm my junior year. We ended up being neighbors, and we bonded over our mutual love of music when he knocked on my door during frosh week to ask what song I was listening to because he could hear it through our shared wall.
That conversation was the start of the longest and closest friendship I’ve ever had, and while we’re polar opposites in pretty much every way, we just click.
Other than that one message he sent me a few days ago, I haven’t talked to him since before the rave, and I open our text thread.
West: have you looked at my insta recently?
Damon: no
Damon: why?
West: because I did a thing
Damon: a thing?
West: yup and I’m kind of freaking out
A photo of a feminine hand with a perfect manicure and a massive diamond ring on the third finger appears in the thread.
I gape at the photo for a few beats. What the hell? Did West get engaged?
My first reaction is to write “what the fuck did you do?” but I have enough wits about me to instead type out what I hope is a more neutral response.
Damon: I’m gonna need some context before I say anything
West: can I call you? I really don’t want to type everything out rn
Instead of answering, I get up to turn down the music and hit the call button. I hate talking on the phone, but West is right, this warrants an actual conversation.
“Hey.” He picks up on the first ring.
“Hey.” I lower the volume of my tunes so I can hear him. “You did a thing?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything and flop back down on my bed.
“Yeah.” He lets out a shaky exhale. “I proposed, and she said yes.”
“Really. Wow.” I shake off my surprise so I can at least pretend like I’m happy for him. “I mean, congrats. That’s…wow.”
He snort-laughs. “Tell me how you really feel, bro.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a weird few days, and I just got in from traveling, so my brain is still playing catch-up,” I say lamely. “Congrats. I mean it.”
He huffs out another strained laugh. “Thanks. I’m still in shock too, so it’s fine.”
“You’re in shock, even though you’re the one who proposed?” I ask carefully.
“Yeah.” I can practically hear him shrug. “I wasn’t really planning to, but it just kind of happened.”
“How does proposing to someone just kind of happen?” I can’t help asking.
“Well, she’s been dropping hints for months that she wants to get engaged.”
“Wait, she has?” I cut in. “You never told me that.”
