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Right hand buried in the pocket of his jacket, Del slouched against the counter of the great octagonal fireplace in the center of the restaurant, listening just closely enough to Dana’s recap of her last-minute Nordstrom excursion to nod in the right spots. The left side of his face was warm to the touch. He could feel the perspiration rising through the pores in his chest and underarms. Eying a couple out on the sidewalk smoking cigarettes, he thought how refreshing it must feel outside, particularly with the rare snowfall setting the city abuzz with the possibility of its first white Christmas in nearly twenty years.
His fingers tightened around the box in his pocket. Twice already tonight he’d psyched himself up to the brink of drawing it out. Twice he’d chickened out. It was the same pattern he’d followed since last month, when he’d first resolved to pop the question.
They’d come to this restaurant any number of times since moving into Dana’s condo the week before Halloween. Dana’s condo. It seemed only fair to call it that. It was her name on the mortgage. But he’d invested a fair amount of sweat equity over the past two months painting, staining the kitchen cabinets, even putting in a new bathroom vanity. The neighborhood had grown on him, and this spot in particular seemed an appropriate place for amour. Maybe it was the fireplace. Maybe it was the memory of the way they’d raced home the first night they’d eaten here and made love on the sofa because they couldn’t hold off long enough to reach the bedroom.
Shortly before Thanksgiving he’d begun rehearsing proposals in his alone time. The early drafts included a reference to the old ring and a vow not to lose her again. By mid-December he had streamlined that part out to place the emphasis on their new life together. He was determined to do it before Christmas, knowing he’d be topic A, B, and C in all Skoog clan gossip. Might as well give them something to really talk about. He had less than twelve hours left until they’d gather to open gifts.
When their dinner dishes were cleared he hoisted his empty pint glass to the passing waitress, buying himself another half hour. He let Dana violate her pledge not to talk about office politics because it freed him to nod and ruminate. In his pocket, he worked his forefinger under the box lid and ran it over the stone. With tax it had cost him just north of nine thousand dollars. It was more than he’d intended to spend, but anything under a carat and a half had looked lost when his salesman set it against the gold band.
She would say yes, he was almost sure. That wasn’t what had held up the proposal. It was more a matter of legacy. The story that would be told later. Would its retelling soothe her when he was three thousand miles away in Florida preparing for the season? Would she light up at the mention of the night he asked for her hand, or would she shake her head and lament his lack of romance? He wriggled the ring out of its slot and forced his fingertip inside until it was snug up against his top knuckle.
“Are you even listening?” Dana’s nostrils flared slightly.
“Yeah.” He shrugged defensively and attempted to free his finger by rubbing it against the edge of the box. The ring wouldn’t budge. “You were saying about Vicky and how she—”
“Not even close.”
“No, weren’t you just saying about how that guy canceled that contract because she was late for a meeting?” His thumb was in the box now, pushing on the ring, which had settled into the groove just below the base of his nail.
“Five minutes ago.” Dana stood and reached over the back of her chair for her coat. “Sorry it wasn’t all that interesting. Let’s just go.”
“No, wait.”
Del jerked his hand out of his pocket. The box clattered off the arm of his chair and down to the floor. He scrambled to retrieve it, searching with his left hand until he located it next to a steak fry he’d lost earlier in the evening. He looked up into Dana’s widened eyes and even wider mouth and realized the diamond locked on his finger was plainly visible to her as well as the nearby patrons. There was no retreat. He shifted his left knee back to the floor and extended his hand up to her.
“Dana.” He paused to breathe and realized he couldn’t remember anything of the proposal he’d scripted. His heart rocked against his ribs as the entire English language eluded him. The only bit that came to him was a line from a Coldplay song he’d long ago pared from his speech. Realizing that nearby diners had ceased eating in favor of staring at him, he at last managed a weak, but audible, “Will you marry me?”
The flames from the fireplace tinted Dana’s glistening eyes amber. She raised her open hand to her breast and stood above him, breathing as though it required her fullest concentration. Tears followed the contour of her nose and leaked down to the corners of her open mouth. Struck as dumb as he had been, she finally nodded her reply. A woman seated at the table nearest to them shrieked and began to clap. The applause swept around the room until the entire restaurant stood, cheering as Del, still kneeling, slid the ring onto Dana’s finger.