“Oh, Seph, honey.” She grabs the item, clutching it to her chest. It’s a peach-colored dress, sixties style. Gemma looks up at Joe. “But . . . how?”
He is sprawled on a recliner, peeling the label off his beer bottle.
“I’d been thinking about it the entire year. Where it could’ve gone. Last month, I started making some calls. One of them was to the woman who bought our old house on Church Creek. I asked her if I could take a look in her attic. She said yes. I spent a good portion of my last weekend on the project. Now her attic is organized and clean, and you have your favorite dress.”
Dom leans toward me, squeezing my knee. “It’s the dress Mom wore for her first date with Dad. She thought she’d lost it forever.”
A knot forms in my throat. What a terrific gesture. Gemma almost falls over when she reaches to hug her younger son. Dom passes her a small green box. His smile is apologetic. “So, this is definitely not a punch-you-in-the-heart kind of gift . . .”
“Shush. Not everything is a competition,” she says.
The words slide smoothly out of her throat. Like she’s said them hundreds of times before. Called it. These two have a layered, complex relationship, and I’m best to stay out of it.
She unwraps the white satin bow, grinning at her elder son. Dom blushes, ducking his head down. Gemma pops the box open and picks up a pearl lock bracelet. It is gorgeous. Elegant and understated. But it doesn’t hit as close or as personal as the dress you wore the day you fell in love, and Dom knows it.
“Sorry it’s not more . . .” He scrubs his overnight stubble awkwardly.
“Dominic!” Gemma gasps, securing the bracelet on her wrist. “What’s the matter with you? It’s wonderful. You work so hard, such long hours, I’m surprised you brought me anything at all.”
She hurries to hug him. As they embrace, Joe’s eyes catch mine. He gives me a conspiratorial smirk. Suddenly, I ache to spend some time with him. One-on-one. Even if it hurts. Even if it kills me.
“But, I think I might be able to top off Joe’s gift, after all.” Dom throws his baby brother a wink. “Because I have another gift.”
“Well, well, well.” Brad sits back. He crosses his ankles over the coffee table. “Just remember I took you to the ballet, Gem. Because these boys are trying to up the ante, and all you’ll find in my envelope to you is a Nordstrom gift card.”
“Actually, this present is not for Mom.” Dom stands up. “Although . . . some would argue that it is.”
My heart speeds up. I suddenly forget how to breathe. No. No. No. What’s worse is that I understand what’s happening before everyone else does. Can anticipate Dom’s next move. I speak his body language fluently.
He lowers himself to one knee before me in his parents’ living room.
I want to die.
I close my eyes, thinking about how Dad is going to respond when I tell him I’m engaged. How Mom is not going to be at the wedding. How Pippa is going to hear about it, eventually, in passing one day and say, She ended up marrying a Ken? Maybe I didn’t know her after all. I think about our future lives, in suburbia. About Honda SUVs designed to contain three baby car seats. I think about double dates with Joe and his flavor of the week. Cooking and calligraphy and claying classes.
Then I remember that I don’t have to say yes.
But I do. I have to say yes because Dom chose me, in a time when no one else had. I have to because Dom makes things right. Because he took a look at my underbelly, at my darkness and insecurities, and stayed. And because Dom is not okay, not really. He needs my help in letting go of what happened to him. He is on self-destruction mode. I can’t turn my back on that.
But all of those things don’t hold a candle to the real reason why I can’t say no—because the proposal is so public. I simply cannot turn him down in front of his family.
“Lynne.” He clears his throat. “I know we’ve known each other for only a few months, but in those months, I’ve felt more than I ever have before. I fell in love, I gained a friend, I found out who Chewbacca was, made memories even more precious than my childhood nostalgia on the Cape—all with you.”
Gemma coos. I force myself to open my eyes. All I see is Dom, and the hope marked on his face.
Be honest, Mom says in my head.
Be fierce, Pippa adds.
But their voices are so faded that I can barely hear them anymore.
“Everlynne Bellatrix Lawson—God, I love that name! So unique.” Dom laughs. “Would you do me the honor and do the thing you warned me is ninety-nine point nine nine percent not going to happen and marry me? Because, baby, I’ve always believed in miracles, and you are my favorite point oh one percent.”