The warmth of his breath from his chuckle hit my cheek. "Okay," he announced. "You ready?"
"Yes." I blinked a few times, adjusting my eyes to the small amount of night light that filtered through once the blindfold was off. We were on the rooftop of the apartment, like I’d suspected, but there was nothing different about it. "Um, I don't—"
His laugh cut me off. "Just wait right here, okay?" He moved swiftly to an outlet next to the door. "Ready?" he shouted.
I nodded.
Then the entire place lit up from above. My eyes darted up to the hundreds of fairy lights that were strung up above us. In the center was a bunch of different sized and colored paper lanterns. But that's not what made me gasp; it was the dozens of tiny glass vials weaved through them.
"See?" He stood next to me, and followed my gaze. "Now we just wait for it to rain, and we can start collecting more moments."
I slowly turned to him. His eyes were still focused above us. But he wasn't seeing what I was seeing. What I saw my future, my life, my world. "Logan, this is amazing."
His smile was instant. That all-out, carefree, deep-dimple-displaying smile I loved so much. He took my hand. "Come on." He led me to a rug set out underneath the center of the lights. I followed. Once we were seated, he said, "Hi." He chewed the corner of his lip and played with a loose thread on the rug.
"Hi," I replied.
We sat cross-legged, facing each other. Our grins matched each other’s. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
"I got you something."
"No. You've already done so much. You've spent way too much money."
He rolled his eyes. "This didn't cost me anything."
"You sure?"
"Yes, babe," he drawled. "I'm sure."
I perked up. "Okay, then. Gimme!" I threw my hand out, palm up.
He sighed. "It's not—" He took a deep breath and let it out with his words. "It's not what you think it is, and I don't want you to get excited, or mad, or disappointed because you will, and it's—"
"Logan. Stop!"
"Okay . . ."
I moved my hand suggestively closer to him.
And then I waited.
And waited.
It felt like forever.
But the instant the metal hit my palm and the lights from above shined reflectively on the diamond—I flipped my hand and dropped it.
I glared at him, my eyes falling out of my head. His expression matched mine.
I glanced down at the ring, now sitting on the rug.
Thump. Thump.
I looked away.
"I told you it's not what you think it is."
"No," is all I could say. My mind was racing. My palms were sweating.
"Amanda." He tried to get my attention.
I started to stand up but his heavy hands on my legs stopped me from moving any further.
"What is wrong with you?" He'd started chuckling. I didn't know what was so funny.
"You're giving me an engagement ring, Logan. That's not funny."
He quit laughing. His tone was serious when he said, "It is an engagement ring, but it's not for you. I mean it's not your engagement ring."
My face must've shown how confused he just made me because he dropped his head and let out the sigh of all sighs. When he finally lifted it, his eyes were focused, determined. Picking up the ring between us, he asked me to come closer. I did. "Closer," he said again. I moved. "Closer." I was sitting across his lap by the time he was satisfied. "I'm not asking you to marry me," he started. My shoulders relaxed. I wasn't ready for that yet. "I'm not saying that I won't. It's just not our time—yet." I smiled, so glad we were on the same page. He continued, "Remember how I told you about Dad's Tina?"
"His high school sweetheart? The one that . . ." I trailed off.
He glanced away for a second. "Yeah, this is hers."
My breath caught.
"My dad . . ." He held my hand upright and placed the ring on my palm. I picked it up and started to examine it. It was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. White gold with a single stone, but the stone was huge; triple the width of the band. His words broke into my thoughts, but I kept my eyes on the ring. "He gave this to me when I was sixteen. He said I'd become a man." He laughed lightly to himself. "He told me that moments, the ones I create, the ones I hold onto—they're only worth remembering if I have someone to share them with. He said that when I found someone—someone I wanted to share all of my future moments with—to give them this. And hope that every time that person looks at it, they'll know. They'll know that I wanted to share my life with them.
"And that's what I want. I want that person to be you, Amanda. And if for some reason, shit happens—again—and things don't work out for us, I need you to know that. I need you to be able to look at this, for the rest of your life, and know that you’re it for me. Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. And I hope that that’s what you feel when you think about this moment. Loved."
The tear fell before I realized that I was crying. Lifting my head, I tried to level my breathing. I opened my mouth, but the words didn't exist. He reached around me and gently pulled the chain over my head. After unclasping it, he slid the ring on, and secured it around my neck again. I lifted it to see both the ring and vial. I curled my fingers around them, grasping tightly. "This chain holds all my dreams," I told him.
"Yeah?" He smiled softly. "You hold all of mine."
We settled onto the rug, me lying down with my head on his shoulder and his arm around me. We gazed up at the lights above us, listening to them chime as the wind blew and they clanked against the vials. Only then did I take in the masterpiece he'd created. The lanterns all set up in the middle, the twinkling lights forming a circle around them. "Logan, do you know what it looks like?"
"What do you mean?" he asked. But it wasn't really a question. He already knew my answer.
"It looks like the universe."
Cameron
I haven't felt like this since the first time I approached her in her laundry room at her mom's wake. The sweaty palms, the blood pumping in my ears. At least they were all a distance away and couldn't see me in this pathetic state. I'm sure her brothers would've given me shit about it.
I was so fucking nervous my eye began to twitch. Twitchy, that's probably what the boys would nickname me for a year.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get it to stop. Surely I must look crazy right now—suited up, standing under a random tree, yards away from a huge family paying respect to their lost mother and wife.
I blew out a breath. I needed to calm down. Pressing my palm against my chest, I closed my eyes and started counting in my head. It didn't seem to get better.
Then I felt a tiny hand brush against my leg and fingers wrap around mine.
I opened one eye and looked down at Lachlan. He beamed up at me, with crooked teeth on display. He'd just started getting his adult teeth through. "Daddy says it's time," he whispered. Kid was cute. He wouldn't be much longer. His older brothers had already started talking him into doing and saying some stupid shit, but I'd virtually watched him grow from a tiny baby into this boy, and soon enough, he'd be a teenager. I bet he'll be like Little Logan. That kid's a punk. His name suits him.
"Yes." I blinked a few times, adjusting my eyes to the small amount of night light that filtered through once the blindfold was off. We were on the rooftop of the apartment, like I’d suspected, but there was nothing different about it. "Um, I don't—"
His laugh cut me off. "Just wait right here, okay?" He moved swiftly to an outlet next to the door. "Ready?" he shouted.
I nodded.
Then the entire place lit up from above. My eyes darted up to the hundreds of fairy lights that were strung up above us. In the center was a bunch of different sized and colored paper lanterns. But that's not what made me gasp; it was the dozens of tiny glass vials weaved through them.
"See?" He stood next to me, and followed my gaze. "Now we just wait for it to rain, and we can start collecting more moments."
I slowly turned to him. His eyes were still focused above us. But he wasn't seeing what I was seeing. What I saw my future, my life, my world. "Logan, this is amazing."
His smile was instant. That all-out, carefree, deep-dimple-displaying smile I loved so much. He took my hand. "Come on." He led me to a rug set out underneath the center of the lights. I followed. Once we were seated, he said, "Hi." He chewed the corner of his lip and played with a loose thread on the rug.
"Hi," I replied.
We sat cross-legged, facing each other. Our grins matched each other’s. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
"I got you something."
"No. You've already done so much. You've spent way too much money."
He rolled his eyes. "This didn't cost me anything."
"You sure?"
"Yes, babe," he drawled. "I'm sure."
I perked up. "Okay, then. Gimme!" I threw my hand out, palm up.
He sighed. "It's not—" He took a deep breath and let it out with his words. "It's not what you think it is, and I don't want you to get excited, or mad, or disappointed because you will, and it's—"
"Logan. Stop!"
"Okay . . ."
I moved my hand suggestively closer to him.
And then I waited.
And waited.
It felt like forever.
But the instant the metal hit my palm and the lights from above shined reflectively on the diamond—I flipped my hand and dropped it.
I glared at him, my eyes falling out of my head. His expression matched mine.
I glanced down at the ring, now sitting on the rug.
Thump. Thump.
I looked away.
"I told you it's not what you think it is."
"No," is all I could say. My mind was racing. My palms were sweating.
"Amanda." He tried to get my attention.
I started to stand up but his heavy hands on my legs stopped me from moving any further.
"What is wrong with you?" He'd started chuckling. I didn't know what was so funny.
"You're giving me an engagement ring, Logan. That's not funny."
He quit laughing. His tone was serious when he said, "It is an engagement ring, but it's not for you. I mean it's not your engagement ring."
My face must've shown how confused he just made me because he dropped his head and let out the sigh of all sighs. When he finally lifted it, his eyes were focused, determined. Picking up the ring between us, he asked me to come closer. I did. "Closer," he said again. I moved. "Closer." I was sitting across his lap by the time he was satisfied. "I'm not asking you to marry me," he started. My shoulders relaxed. I wasn't ready for that yet. "I'm not saying that I won't. It's just not our time—yet." I smiled, so glad we were on the same page. He continued, "Remember how I told you about Dad's Tina?"
"His high school sweetheart? The one that . . ." I trailed off.
He glanced away for a second. "Yeah, this is hers."
My breath caught.
"My dad . . ." He held my hand upright and placed the ring on my palm. I picked it up and started to examine it. It was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. White gold with a single stone, but the stone was huge; triple the width of the band. His words broke into my thoughts, but I kept my eyes on the ring. "He gave this to me when I was sixteen. He said I'd become a man." He laughed lightly to himself. "He told me that moments, the ones I create, the ones I hold onto—they're only worth remembering if I have someone to share them with. He said that when I found someone—someone I wanted to share all of my future moments with—to give them this. And hope that every time that person looks at it, they'll know. They'll know that I wanted to share my life with them.
"And that's what I want. I want that person to be you, Amanda. And if for some reason, shit happens—again—and things don't work out for us, I need you to know that. I need you to be able to look at this, for the rest of your life, and know that you’re it for me. Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. And I hope that that’s what you feel when you think about this moment. Loved."
The tear fell before I realized that I was crying. Lifting my head, I tried to level my breathing. I opened my mouth, but the words didn't exist. He reached around me and gently pulled the chain over my head. After unclasping it, he slid the ring on, and secured it around my neck again. I lifted it to see both the ring and vial. I curled my fingers around them, grasping tightly. "This chain holds all my dreams," I told him.
"Yeah?" He smiled softly. "You hold all of mine."
We settled onto the rug, me lying down with my head on his shoulder and his arm around me. We gazed up at the lights above us, listening to them chime as the wind blew and they clanked against the vials. Only then did I take in the masterpiece he'd created. The lanterns all set up in the middle, the twinkling lights forming a circle around them. "Logan, do you know what it looks like?"
"What do you mean?" he asked. But it wasn't really a question. He already knew my answer.
"It looks like the universe."
Cameron
I haven't felt like this since the first time I approached her in her laundry room at her mom's wake. The sweaty palms, the blood pumping in my ears. At least they were all a distance away and couldn't see me in this pathetic state. I'm sure her brothers would've given me shit about it.
I was so fucking nervous my eye began to twitch. Twitchy, that's probably what the boys would nickname me for a year.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get it to stop. Surely I must look crazy right now—suited up, standing under a random tree, yards away from a huge family paying respect to their lost mother and wife.
I blew out a breath. I needed to calm down. Pressing my palm against my chest, I closed my eyes and started counting in my head. It didn't seem to get better.
Then I felt a tiny hand brush against my leg and fingers wrap around mine.
I opened one eye and looked down at Lachlan. He beamed up at me, with crooked teeth on display. He'd just started getting his adult teeth through. "Daddy says it's time," he whispered. Kid was cute. He wouldn't be much longer. His older brothers had already started talking him into doing and saying some stupid shit, but I'd virtually watched him grow from a tiny baby into this boy, and soon enough, he'd be a teenager. I bet he'll be like Little Logan. That kid's a punk. His name suits him.
