Chapter 26
Terrence
“You’ve gotta be kidding, Terry!” C. J. called out.
Terrence glanced up from his bowl of granola and banana nut cereal. He lowered the spoon from his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked her, mid-slurp. “Kidding about what?”
“I mean there’s no damn space for my stuff in here!” She leaned her head out of one of the doors of his walk-in closet to stare at him. “There’s no place to put my things!”
He set his half-eaten cereal on his night table. “Yes, there is!”
“No, there isn’t!
“Yes, there is!”
Terrence then rose from his bed and walked across the room to join her in one of his closets to show her the space he had made for her.
Two weeks ago, Terrence had asked C. J. to move in with him. They had both agreed that if they were serious about making their relationship work, they had to take things to the “next level.” That involved her giving up her apartment and setting up residence in his condo. They had both agreed to this in theory, but implementing “the next level” was turning out to be a little bumpier than anticipated.
C. J. had already suggested changes to Terrence’s bachelor pad that made him raise his eyebrows or outright cringe: colorful throw pillows, new teal curtains, and a few abstract paintings from her apartment.
“Maybe we should get a cat,” she had mused while they lay in bed a few nights ago. “A cute little tabby. What do you think?”
Now that she was officially moving in, they both realized that making space for two in a condo that a bachelor had lived in for so long wasn’t an easy task.
He walked into his closet to find her pointing to the section he had cleared out for her.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with it? Terry, you basically gave me three feet of shelf space. That’s all I get in two whole walk-ins?”
He sighed. “Babe, you know I’ve got a lot of clothes.”
“So do I!” She gestured through the opened doorway to her pile of clothes now stacked on his bed.
“But not as much as me!” he argued, making her grumble. “Do you know I even had to get rid of some stuff to make room for you? And I did away with some good shit . . . even a few couture pieces from my modeling days.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” she said dryly.
“Some of them were signature pieces,” he continued, making her laugh and shake her head in exasperation. “I made sacrifices! Big sacrifices!”
“Yeah, you’re a friggin’ saint, Terry.”
He watched as she walked down the length of the closet and grabbed several pairs of jeans he had neatly hung together. She brandished the jeans at him. “What about these? Are these signature pieces, too? How many pairs of dark-washed denim does one man need?”
He considered the jeans and glanced at the labels. “AG, Diesel, and True Religion.”
“And? That means what?”
“Different designers and different cuts. I need them all.”
“Okay! Okay!” She tossed aside the jeans and turned to a series of shelves where he kept his shoes. She grabbed two pairs and held them out to him. “Are you also telling me you need identical pairs of gray suede hush puppies?”
He squinted. “One is clearly gunmetal gray and the other is dove gray. Those are completely different shoes!”
She dropped his shoes to the closet floor with a thud, then dropped her head into her hands. “Terry, do you really want to do this?” she asked from behind her palms.
“Really want to do what?”
“Do you want me to move in here with you?”
He took a step toward her. “I asked you to do it, didn’t I? Of course I want you to move in!”
“You say that, but I’m not seeing it,” she said, gesturing again to the space he had cleared for her.
“C. J.” He gripped her shoulders. “I love you. I want something serious and permanent with you. I’ve told you that about five thousand times! What else do you—”
“Then show me, Terry! Show me that you’re as serious about us as I am, and it might involve getting rid of a lot more than just two pairs of shoes and a couple of designer jeans.”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders, feeling his hackles rise at her challenge. “You want me to show you I’m serious?”
“I would love you to show me.”
“You really want me to show you?”
She threw back her head and laughed.
“Fine, you asked for it. I’mma give it to you.” He then strutted out of the closet.
“Where are you going, Terry?” she called after him.
He didn’t answer her. Instead he went straight to his dresser and went rummaging through the drawers, pushing aside stacks of boxer briefs and socks in search of what he was looking for.
He had purchased it a week ago, returning to the same jewelry store where Evan had bought Leila’s “push gift” months earlier. Evan had returned with him, except this time he was the one advising Terrence. Terrence had known not to loiter too long over his decision because Evan had been in a rush to get back home to his newly expanded family, to his darling infant daughter, Angelica.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this shit,” Terrence had muttered with a trembling voice as he peered down at the line of solitaire diamond rings displayed in the glass case.
He had felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest and trickles of sweat tumbling down his back as he stood there, trying to decide which ring to buy.
Evan had smiled as he stood beside him. “I can’t believe you’re doing it, either! I never would’ve guessed in a million years that my skirt-chasing, commitment-phobic brother would want to ask a woman to marry him.”
Terrence had stilled at Evan’s words and grimaced. “You think I’m not ready? You think it’s too soon, right?”
Evan had shaken his head. “I think no such thing! Besides, it doesn’t matter what I think, Terry. This is about you and C. J. What do you want?”
“I . . . I want her. I want to be with her,” he answered solemnly. “I don’t want to be without her again.”
“Good answer!” Evan had clapped Terrence on the shoulder. “Well, if you think you’re ready to build a life with her, I support you. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
“That’s if she says yes,” Terrence had mumbled, nervously peering down at the glass case again. “She could say no.”
“She won’t say no.”
“I wish I knew that shit for sure!” He had sighed before roughly scrubbing his hand over his face. “But first things first . . . I’ve got to pick out the ring.” His eyes had drifted to a seven-carat, canary-yellow diamond that looked big enough to choke a squirrel. He’d pointed at it. “How about that one? That looks good, right?”
Evan had pursed his lips as he stared at Terrence’s selection. “It’s nice, but word to the wise . . . and I speak from experience. Get C. J. the ring that you know she would want, not the one you would want for her. She’ll appreciate it more.”
* * *
Terrence now reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out the black velvet box he had planned to give her later that week at a candlelit dinner in a penthouse suite overlooking the Washington Monument, Jefferson Memorial, and the Potomac. He had even hired a saxophonist to play them one of the jazz hits she liked.
“Ah, well,” he muttered with another shrug as he slammed the drawer shut and popped the lid of the box open, revealing a three-carat, emerald-cut solitaire with an understated white gold band. It was simple and elegant—just like C. J. More important, it was something he knew she would wear, that she would want.
“I’m waiting, Terrence Murdoch!” she shouted as he walked back across the bedroom toward the closet.
“Let me guess,” she said with laughter in her voice as he rounded the closet door, “instead of me putting my stuff in one of your closets, you’re giving me another drawer.” She snorted. “Well, at least it’s a start! I’m happy you even bothered to . . .”
Her sarcastic quip died on her lips when she saw what he held in his hand. Her eyes zeroed on the ring and her mouth dropped open. She took a step back, blinking furiously and bumping into one of the closet shelves.
“What the . . . what the hell, Terry,” she murmured. “What . . . what are you . . .”
She couldn’t finish.
“I told you that I’m serious about us, C. J.,” he said, not feeling any of the nervousness or misgivings he had experienced when he had purchased the engagement ring. He was sure now of what he wanted to say and to do. He was completely resolute. “I want to make this as permanent as we can possibly make it, if . . . if you’re willing to have me.”
“Oh, my God!” She dropped one quivering hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.
He took another step toward her, still holding out the box and the ring.
“This isn’t really happening, is it?” she whispered. “I must be dreaming, because it looks like . . . it looks you’re . . . you’re a-a-asking me t-to—”
“I’m asking you to marry me, girl!”
She stared at him mutely, openly crying now.
“Will you marry me, C. J.?”
She smiled and slowly nodded. “Yes. Of course, baby!”