“I was wrong. Stupid,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”
Jason stands, then seems to feel for something in his jacket. When he starts to pull out a box, I panic.
“No, Jason,” I say. “Stop. Don’t.”
But he ignores me. He drops to one knee. “Zadie Cartwright.”
Oh my God.
The couple are looking over.
A few walkers on the path have stopped to watch us. Someone pulls out their phone.
“Jason, getup.”
“I can’t,” Jason says. “Because I’ve fallen deeply, mercilessly, irrevocably in love with you. And I’m not afraid of forever, just as long as you’re in it.”
He opens the small green box in his hand.
“Ugh, Jason,” I say, unable to meet his eyes. This is horrible.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “it’s not an engagement ring. But it is a commitment, and I think we’re ready for it.”
In the corner of my eye, I can see a small crowd gathering. I can’t say no in front of all these people. Embarrass Jason. Embarrassmyself.
Besides, before the accident, I was so sure.
Surely that certainty is still alive. Somewhere deep inside me.
“Jason, please get up,” I whisper, but somehow he hears me.
“All right,” he says, and then to my horror, he hops up on the bench and then on top of the table. He asks it again, standing, ring held out grandly to me, “Zadie, love of my life, will you swear to wear this promise ring?”
Jason is very rarely this exuberant, and I feel my horror giving way. I feel both mortified and unable to help laughing.
“Yes, fine, sure,” I say. “Just get down from there.”
“She saidyes, folks!” he yells, then hops down from the table and kisses me. It’s a familiar kiss. Not too long or too short. Controlled, audience-appropriate, no tongue.
The ring is emerald-green, different from the one in the dream.
“We’re the best together,” Jason tells me, repeating the words I’ve thought a dozen times. I nod, because I’m trying to believe it’s true. It used to be true, anyway, and maybe can be again.
“I know,” I say.
Thirty-One
Word about the promise ring spreads like an infectious disease. People are texting me and tagging me on socials before I get home.
Amber and Mo send several texts, demanding details.
By the time I’m home, I’m exhausted even though I haven’t really seen anyone but Jason.
Marcus and I are texting about used bookstores.
Mom calls me into her room as soon as I get upstairs.
“Do I go purple pantsuit or chiffon dress?” she asks, holding up each outfit even though she is in her pajamas. The city is honoring the end of Mom’s first and only term as mayor tomorrow.
