Page 50 of My Redneck Baby Daddy

“And then I made you kiss me.”

“You asked me. Sober.” He smiled. “I been thinking about that ever since.”

Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small box.

“Oh, damn it,” I said, and immediately started crying.

“I ain’t even said nothing yet.”

“I know what a ring means, Bobby Jo!”

He laughed and hen he got down on one knee in the dirt, which at his size was a whole production, and looked up at me.

“I need you to hear this part,” he said. “This ain’t got a thing to do with that baby.”

“Bobby Jo.”

“No, listen.” His eyes stayed on mine. “If you tell me no tonight, I’m still going home with you. I’m still at every appointment. I’m still gonna be that boy’s daddy till the day I die, and I’m still gonna love you in the morning.” He opened the box. “None of that’s on the table. It was never on the table.”

“Then what is?” I asked.

“You in my house with your name next to mine. That’s all I’m asking about.” He took a breath. “Rue, will you marry this redneck?”

I looked down at that big blond idiot kneeling in the dirt at the overlook where he kissed me the first time.

“Unfortunately.”

His eyebrows went up. “Unfortunately?”

“I’ve developed terrible taste.”

“Rue.”

“Yes.” I was laughing and crying so hard I couldn’t see one thing through my glasses. “Yes, Bobby Jo.”

They knew before we got out of the truck.

Regina came across that gravel at a speed no woman in wedges should attempt and screamed loud enough that Waylon started barking. My mother cried. Sue Ellen cried significantly harder and had to sit down. Hamilton shook Bobby Jo’s hand and then hugged him, saying something I could not hear that made Bobby Jo drop his gaze to the ground.

My father came over last.

He took my hand and turned it until the ring caught the light, studying it for a long moment.

Then he looked at Bobby Jo.

“Well,” he said. “Reckon I better start saving for another bill.”

“Daddy!”

But he was smiling when he said it, and he did not let go of my hand right away.

We got home at nine thirty, and the house was quiet in a way it had not been all day.

I was propped up in bed with my glasses on and a book balanced on what was left of my lap, listening to Bobby Jo out there locking up the shop and running the dog one more time.

He came into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway.

I turned a page.