The morning passes in a blur of mothers fawning over us, dads smoking cigars as they anticipate a new Warren-Rose generation, and a perfect stranger directing Kate and me into what feels like a million engagement photos. But the tears of joy in Nana Fern’s eyes are the hardest to bear.
“Oh, Dear, you had me scared this morning with all your ‘I’m not ready’ and ‘These are different times’ talk. But I knew you only needed a little push. You’ve made me the happiest grandma on the planet.”
The pressure is tightening around me like a boa constrictor. How is it that, every time we try to stop lying, we just dig ourselves deeper? Assuming we don’t tell them over Christmas, and go along with the whole Chucokate madness until February… Then what? We can’t just continue to pretend we’re together for the rest of our lives.
I have no idea what Kate is thinking, as we haven’t been alone for a second since the accidental proposal. And I’m a little ashamed to confess I’m glad a private conversation will have to wait until tonight after dinner. This afternoon, I have to go Christmas shopping—and, yeah, Kate had a point, I shouldn’t have left it to the last minute, I certainly don’t need the additional stress. Then I have to meet a few of my buddies for a beer. Meanwhile, Kate has been conscripted by the moms. The official reason is to spend a “girls only” afternoon, but I suspect they want to talk shop and get started on the wedding planning. Poor Kate, I sure don’t envy her.
***
As expected, my last-minute Christmas shopping blitz is incredibly draining. After many years of giving original gifts to my beloved ones, coming up with fresh ideas has become hard. I miss being a little boy, when one of my drawings would do the trick. Or the easy first Christmases when it was wool hats, gloves, and a scarf for everybody. This year, it takes all my creativity to pick items people don’t own already. Or, at least, I hope they don’t.
For Mom, a temperature control smart mug because she constantly complains about her coffee getting cold before she finishes it. Dad’s gift is not original, but always appreciated: every December I check his stock of spices at home and replenish it. Lillian, a new set of pot holders and an oven glove—today at breakfast I noticed her current ones are pretty worn out. Mick has been obsessing about the future of bees lately, so when I see the local gourmet store offers a program to adopt a beehive long-distance and receive the honey once a year, I sign him up and get a certificate to give to him on Christmas Day. Nana Fern is the easiest to sort with an audiobook subscription. Pops Teddy, a weighted gravity blanket—supposedly the best accessory for a profound rest. And then there’s Kate.
What do I get my ex-girlfriend slash fake-fiancée, knowing that she’ll open the present in full view of our entire family? It has to be something thoughtful and personal, but not so thoughtful and personal that Kate thinks I’m still in love with her.
I finally settle on one of those health & fitness smartwatches with a built-in GPS. Sure, she’ll probably use it with Marco. If his Instagram account is any indication, I bet he’s behind the sudden early morning fitness madness. Still, Kate will like the smartwatch, so, what the heck, why not?
I load all the shopping bags in the trunk of the rental car and then set out for the pub, more than ready to spend a few hours catching up with my friends.
The Plough and Harrow is one of the oldest buildings in town. It dates back to the late 1800s, and it still has the original placard and woodwork. The interior is mostly authentic as well; only the emerald green and gold carpet panels on the walls and booth upholstery have changed over the generations of pub-owners. The counter, tables, floor, and ceiling are made of dark wood that’s older than anyone inside.
An equally old iron chandelier dominates the center of the room, and antique light fixtures hang from the walls. They provide little illumination, but the semi-darkness is part of the charm of The Plough and Harrow. Also, there aren’t any TV screens behind the bar or mounted on the walls. Stanley, the owner, has stubbornly refused to put one up forever. “This is a place where people come to socialize,” he’d say. “My pub is a family environment. Good for storytelling, singing, and laughter. Not to get brainwashed in front of a TV. If you want that, go to The Red Wings,” he would add with disdain, referring to the new sports bar near Route 31.
And, to be honest, Stanley has a point. As I walk in, the atmosphere couldn’t be more relaxed, cheerful, and welcoming. Groups of people are gathered around chatting happily and guffawing. The holiday decorations draped on every surface and hook make the place even more holly-jolly.
I close the door behind me and take off my hat and gloves as a draft of warm air engulfs me. I ruffle up my flattened hair and spot Finn, Gary, and Phil seated at a high table. Gary catches my eye and waves. I trudge through the crowded room to reach them and sigh in relief at the four beers resting on the table. Great, the line at the bar is huge.
I sit on a high stool and finish removing my scarf and jacket before clasping hands with each of my friends.
The last time we met in person was at the end of summer, and I’ve missed them. Also, since I couldn’t be honest about the Kate situation, I haven’t kept in touch as much as usual. Phil works in New York, Gary is in med school at Stanford, and Finn is doing his master’s at the University of Arizona. All places far away enough from Ann Arbor they wouldn’t find out the truth by chance.
They promptly hassle me about the disappearing act. But, once the bantering is over and the first beer is gone, I can’t help but notice Finn seems to be making an effort to appear happy while coming off even more tortured than I am.
“Hey, man, is everything all right? What’s up with you?”
Phil answers for him. “Eva broke up with him.”
“No,” I say. “When?”
“Just before the holidays, dude, it sucks.”
“Why?”
“She said she felt claustrophobic in our relationship and that it’d gotten too serious too fast.”
“Sorry, man,” I say, unable to express how much genuine sympathy I feel for him.
“Yeah,” Finn says, and takes a long sip of beer. “You’re lucky you’ve got Kate.”
At this affirmation, Gary and Phil exchange a look.
“What?” I ask.
“Although,” Gary says. “We heard some rumors…”
“What rumors?” I ask, instantly on guard.
“Well, Stella told Bea’s sister who told me…”
I struggle to wrap my head around the gossip flow. Bea is Gary’s girlfriend, who has a younger sister, Mia, but I don’t know who this Stella person is. “Who’s Stella?”
“Thomas MacArthur’s younger sister,” Phil says, naming one of our classmates from high school. “She’s Mia’s best friend.”
“Okay,” I say, making a go-on gesture at Gary.
“She goes to Kenyon College, but was at Ann Arbor for Halloween, and she swore she saw Kate kissing another guy. She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure because the dude was wearing a Batman costume, but she said he was too ripped to be you. But Kate only had cat ears on and Stella recognized her.”
The new info that Kate and Marco dressed as Batman and Catwoman for Halloween punches me in the gut harder than it should. Maybe because I’m such a nerd, but Kate knows Batman Returns is my all-time favorite Batman movie. And I know they’ve done worse than stealing my childhood heroes, like having sex—gag—but this is a low blow. It feels scornful and personal.
Thankful for the low lighting that hopefully won’t allow the others to notice how red my neck and ears have turned, I try to laugh it off. “Come on, guys, of course it was me. I mean, Michael Keaton, Michelle Pfeiffer, directed by Tim Burton. If that doesn’t have Chuck Rose written all over it, I don’t know what does. And I used one of those foam body-suits that beef you up and make you seem all muscles.”
Gary and Phil exchange another look. I’m not sure why, but they’re not buying into my very credible explanations.
Gary says, “Well, Stella also said she spotted Kate the next morning with a dude of the same build. They were jogging together.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“She hinted they looked pretty cozy with each other.”
Ugh. Damn Stella. I don’t even know her and she’s ruining my life. “Guys, that’s Marco,” I say. The best lies are always sprinkled with truth. “They’re running partners, nothing more.”
The last thing Kate and I need is for a rumor that she’s cheating on me to spread. Small town gossip can be deadlier than a shark with the scent of blood in its nostrils—which is how I picture the worst gossipers, anyway.
“Are you sure nothing shady is going on, man?” Finn asks. “I thought everything was good with Eva until she gave me the hasta la vista speech.”
“No, yeah, plus Marco has a girlfriend. Amanda, Amelia, Angelina… something that starts with A…”
“Really? And him having a girlfriend is enough to sleep well at night? They could both be cheating on—”
“Listen, guys,” I interrupt. “Kate and I are fine.”
I’m beginning to sound desperate, and I can see it reflected in the skeptical stares of my friends, which makes me panic even more. So, before I’ve had time to reflect on the soundness of what I’m about to do, I blurt out, “In fact, we’re more than okay. We’re engaged.”
“What?” Phil shouts.
“Seriously, man? Why didn’t you tell us right away?” Finn asks.
“Guess I haven’t really processed it myself yet. It just happened.” Now that I’ve made the announcement, I try to downplay it. “Like, literally only a few hours ago.”
“Man, you’re talking as if you were surprised yourself,” Gary points out.
I scratch the back of my head. “I kinda am, man. It wasn’t planned, you know.” At least this part is true. “But then this morning Nana Fern gave me the ring… and the proposal sort of followed naturally.” More like tragically, and totally by accident.
Finn hollers his approval while Gary slaps me on the shoulder and Phil shakes my hand. “Cool, man, congratulations!” Finn says. “We must celebrate.”
Gary stands up. I try to stop him, saying the engagement is not official yet, but he’s already halfway to the bar and waves me off to go order another round of beers. I can’t hear what my friend is telling Stanley, the pub owner, but from the way the barman’s head snaps in my direction, he must’ve told him about the engagement. And the few patrons near Gary probably heard as well, because their heads turn my way, too.
Helplessly, I watch as the news spreads across the pub faster than a wildfire, in a wave of turning heads and whispered gossip.
The broadcast, however, doesn’t stop within these walls. Soon, people are bringing out their phones and texting relatives, friends, and everyone else who might be bothered to know.
I shouldn’t be surprised. A wedding between the two heirs to the chocolate crown is big news in Bluewater Springs.
And I’m a dead man.
The only chance Kate and I had to contain this morning’s disaster was for no one to find out. And I just blew that possibility.
I’m so dead.
So.
Dead.