“Like … I’ve been feeling jealous of Melody, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way in my entire life,” she says.
I place my work bag down and peel my jacket off. “You’re jealous of Melody and Brett getting married in two weeks?” This is almost shocking because I haven’t noticed a glimmer of jealousy in the entire last six months they’ve been planning the wedding, which has made me wonder countless times if Journey wants the same thing. But because we don’t bring that subject up, all I could do was wonder. Communication failure.
I dip my hands into my pockets and lean into my heels. With a deep inhale, I motion for her to come to me. Her eyebrows knit together with a look of confusion, maybe wondering if I’m going to poke fun at her, or possibly soothe her jealousy with a different distraction.
Journey places the wooden spoon down on top of the folded dish rag and walks up to me. “What’s that look for?”
“I have a funny story for you,” I say. Humor always kills the nerves. It’s my answer to everything.
“A funny story to offset my confession of jealousy?” she replies.
“Yes. Give me a minute,” I say. “About a month or so ago, I had this thought. I mean, I have lots of thoughts, but most of them come and go and never return. However, this thought kept returning, so I knew I had to analyze it.”
“What thought?” Journey questions, curling her hair behind her ears.
“The thought? I kept wondering if you are the marrying type. Some women aren’t, you know? I have first-hand experience in that department. But how does a guy know if a woman is, in fact, the marrying kind?”
Journey presses her lips together and cocks her head to the side. “I don’t know, but maybe one of your life-hack books on your nightstand would have that answer.”
I grin in response. One of my life hack books totally has the answer inside. “Well, that’s exactly where I looked.”
The frustration is evident by the red hue of her cheeks. “What did the book tell you to do, Brody?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of what I read, okay?”
Journey returns to the stove and turns the burner and oven off before leaving the kitchen. “Okay, but dinner is ready, so show me quickly.”
The walk to my bedroom feels like a mile with my heart racing, heat rising through every inch of my body. Journey isn’t the typical woman. She doesn’t like the common acts of love. She’s unique and sees life through a different lens than most. I had to think this through for so many different reasons, but mostly because I fear her fear. I grab the book from my nightstand and hand it to her. “I bookmarked the page,” I say.
Journey takes the book and spins around so her back is facing me. She does this a lot when she wants to take things in privately. Maybe she’s worried about what she might read. It’s hard to read her.
When she opens to the page, her gaze is hopefully drawn to the fluorescent orange highlighted area I made in the center of the right page.
“Life Hack: Protecting a fragile heart - Tip:143: If you love her and you know she feels the same about you, don’t be an idiot. Don’t let her get away. Make a promise to love her forever so you never have to know what a broken heart feels like.” I read the tip out loud to her, hoping she’s reading the words at the same time.
With her hand placed in the middle of the page, she slowly turns back around to face me. “I thought I had a broken heart once or twice throughout my life, but I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out how I would recover if you ever went away. I wouldn’t. I need you because I love you. You’re the best part of who I am and the person I’ve needed most of my life but didn’t always have. Now that I have you, I can’t fathom being without you, Journey.” Despite the desire to get down on one knee, my knees are about to give out on their own if I don't do it right this very second. I had the ring in the nightstand next to the book, waiting for the moment I knew for sure she was ready. I’ve been here waiting, testing my patience, eager for the rest of what life has in store for us, but we’ve always focused on taking our time, and I wanted to respect that.
I close my eyes and pull in a short breath—it’s the most air I can get in the moment. “I’m scared you might say no. I’m scared I love you more than you love me. I’m scared you don’t need a best friend the way I need you, but I’m surer than scared that I’m wrong about all of those fears. In my heart, I know we’re supposed to be here together, and—”
Journey cups her hands over her mouth as I pull out the ring box. Her eyes fill with tears, and her arms begin to shake. “Brody,” she whispers.
“I need to marry you. I need to spend the rest of my life with you. I need to be with my best friend every single day. I need you, and I hope you need me to. So, will you promise never to leave? Will you marry me?”
Journey doesn’t cry. She’s a stone wall when it comes to emotions. I know they are there, bottled up inside, but it takes so much to break through her outer layers. She nods her eyes as a tear falls from her eye. “Yes,” she mumbles through her hands. I notice my hand is shaking uncontrollably as I pull the ring from the squad cushion. I can hardly slip it onto her finger with my nerves causing tremors throughout my body, but it fits perfectly. Journey takes a step toward me, and I stand up to take her into my arms.
“I didn’t know if it was something you wanted to do again, so I didn’t bring it up. We both have so much baggage from the past and I—I don’t know what’s normal anymore, but I hate normal. I just know that you get me, tolerate me, push me to smile, push me to laugh, push me through the dark, and I’ve felt a different form of happiness, one that I’ve never felt before, and every second I have spent e planning for Melody, I couldn’t help but imagine us doing the same. I never thought I'd want this, Brody. Honest. But now, I can’t understand why,t because it’s all I want.”
I pull her hands away from her face and cup my palms around her cheeks, leaning down slowly, taking my time to remember the moment of my life falling into place after so many ups and downs. She smiles just before I kiss her, and the smile—it’s just for me. “I love you,” I whisper into her mouth before touching my lips to hers.
As if our love story is scripted into a romantic comedy, it doesn’t come as a surprise when the smoke alarm blares from the kitchen, interrupting our special moment, adding the unique humor to everything we do together. “I thought you turned the oven off?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I did!” She runs to the kitchen, grabbing the dishrag from beneath the wooden spoon, and pulls the smoking pan out. I lean over her and turn the stove dial from broil to off like she intended to do ten minutes ago.
“I think we might need to order out tonight,” she says, holding her hand over her face.
“Journey, sweetie, we have to order out every other time you make dinner. In fact, I considered placing the order for pizza when I pulled into the driveway because we’ve already had two unburned meals in a row this week.”
“You want a wife who can’t cook?” she asks.
