“How’d I go from zero to sixty?” I mutter to myself as I look around the rooftop.
Gray claps me on the shoulder, and I look over at my friend, who has taken off work for the day to be here with me.
“Because you just had three years of foreplay, friend, that’s how,” he says with a laugh.
I groan and turn to him. “Was it always that obvious?” I ask because I feel like I’ve been steamrolled by reality this week.
Hutch looks over from where he’s stringing pink roses through the latticework behind the bar. “Dude, the sexual tension between you two for the last three years has been so thick we’d need a machete to cut that shit,” he says as he pokes another flower into place. “For a smart man, sometimes you are pretty oblivious.”
I run a hand over my face, feeling like a crazy person. For reasons I can’t explain, I suddenly feel a little nervous. What if she says no? What if she thinks this is too soon? It’s only been five weeks since we first decided to give this a try.
I realize I haven’t spoken to my family, and I want to call them. I did call Carly’s sister, Anne, after deciding to do this. She’s going to be here tonight to hopefully celebrate with us. I had wanted to ask her parents because somehow, I feel like a nineteenth-century suitor. Anne held the phone, and I asked them. They have no idea who Carly is anymore, but thought I was a “delightful young man and should definitely propose to this Carly I spoke of.”
“I need to make a call,” I say as I walk to the far side of the rooftop past Al’s greenhouse. This side is quiet, just the utility parts of the building in a small, enclosed space. I look out at the city as I dial my parents’ number.
“Hey, sweetie,” my mom answers.
“Hey,” I say, feeling unsure of what to say. I told my parents about my plans three days ago. Their reaction was similar to that of my friends, laughing that they wondered when we would finally figure out we were in love. Honestly, I think my mother was just excited about Ava being her first grandkid.
“You nervous?” Mom asks.
“A little,” I admit, trying to underplay my anxiety.
“Remember when you were little, and Lanie wanted you to visit her in the hospital, and you didn’t want to go?” Mom says.
Jesus, why does she have to bring that up right now?
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“You were scared. It was scary, but then you went, and you had the best time playing with Lanie, and you made her so happy. It turned out that you really helped her that week, and in turn, I think it led to a lifelong fascination with medicine. Do you remember how the doctor showed you guys how to make balloon animals from the gloves?” Mom laughs.
I chuckle. “Mine looked like a dick and balls,” I laugh.
“It sure did, but you were so proud of it,” she says. “You’re brave, Bray. You went through a lot. And I’m sorry we didn’t help you more with your feelings. I’m glad you’re in therapy and working through that, and I’m glad you aren’t letting it hold you back from a lifetime of happiness. Now, go get our girls and make them part of our family.”
“Mom, slow down. I’m proposing today, not getting married,” I point out.
“Yeah, yeah. Same difference. But remember, that woman loves you. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” she says as if FaceTime is more than a video. “Worst-case scenario, she just needs a little more time.”
I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. “You’re right. Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime. I want a video. Text us after,” she demands.
“Will do, bye,” I say as I disconnect and see a text pop up from Lanie.
Lanie-painie: Go get her! You got this! There better be a video!
I laugh and let her know it will be recorded, as if I could stop all my friends from documenting the event.
I decide I need a moment. I have taken off work and am actually awake in the daytime hours. Perhaps a run will help. I’ve gotten off my workout schedule since the Italy trip.
I walk back over to Hutch and Gray. “Can you guys take charge for about thirty minutes? I want to get in a quick run to work out the nerves.”
Gray grins. “Of course, we got this, don’t we, Hutch?”
The step stool Hutch is on wobbles, and he rights himself. “Uh, maybe?” he says.
“You sure?” I ask.
