Page 131

“I mean, it’s really fucking hot out here. And as of an hour ago, itisour house.” He pats his pocket, where the keys to 317 are tucked safely.

Hearing him say it sends a burst of excitement through me. Buying the house was an idea I never thought he’d agree to, given its impracticality. We don’t even own a home yet in Shafer, and 317 is badly in need of renovations, but it was dirt cheap and I do have the place tattooed permanently onto my body. Plus, in the last year, my parents and I have finally started to work on our relationship, and I like the idea of spending more time near them without having to be back in my childhood home. We’ve passed our purchase of the house off to everyone as another of my wacky, impulsive ideas, but no doubt Lorenzo wanted it as much as I did.

“We agreed: first meal as homeowners on the dock,” I remind him. “Then we can go inside. Now how about a beer to christen this rickety thing?”

“I’ll share one with you.”

I chuckle. “Wild man.”

We stretch our legs out and open up the beer and a bag of crumbly, overly sweetened cookies. Talk wanders to past summers here, as it inevitably does when we’re in Lakeside—we’re a sentimental duo when there’s a nice breeze rolling over the lake and the sun glints off the chop of the water in a way that’s almost too beautiful to be real. But lately we do a lot of talking about the future. We talk about dream vacations and the renovations we’ll make to this place someday, when our careers stabilize. With a few years of R and D experience under my belt and my culinary degree almost complete, I’m on track to become certified as a research chef. It’s been a long process, but baby steps have become a way of life, and I’ve learned to tolerate the impulse to quit and try something new every time life gets boring. Lucky for me, life’s a lot less boring when I can call Lorenzo mine.

“One more beer?” I ask once I’ve emptied the first bottle. I drape my legs over Lorenzo’s ankles.

“I’m good. Look what else I brought.” He reaches into the tote bag at his side and pulls out a small box with a handful of CD cases.

“No way! We haven’t looked at liner notes in years.”

“I found these in my parents’ garage. Haven’t seen them since high school.”

“Oh, god. Nostalgia incoming.”

“I brought tissues.”

But these days I can reflect on high school without wanting to cry. Now I look back at that angry, directionless girl and I’m grateful she failed so many times to live up to the standards setfor her. She needed to learn the hard way expectations work only when you set them yourself.

We start opening CD cases and sliding out the little booklets. I think it’s hilarious looking back on the quotes our angsty teenaged selves underlined and highlighted and wrote little exclamation marks next to. I read a few out loud and get some halfhearted laughs from Lorenzo, but mostly he’s quiet.

I pick up an Alice in Chains CD, but when I open it, the booklet is covered by a torn piece of notebook paper that I definitely don’t remember seeing. I slip it out of the case and unfold it. The handwriting is childlike and vaguely familiar.

Dear stupid journal,

I figured something out today. Someday I want to marry Ruby.

—Lorenzo

My heart seems to stop. I know why the handwriting is familiar. I’ve seen it in the childhood diary Lorenzo showed me years ago in my parents’ attic.

I look up at him. He’s down on one knee, and as soon as I see his eyes, I can’t breathe because they’re warm and bright and anxious, waiting for an answer to the question I know he’s about to ask.

“Lorenzo.” My voice comes out in a whisper.

“You know how you like to say I always get what I want? There’s something I’ve been wanting since the first time I realized that when I’m alone with you, I have everything.”

His eyes drop to his thigh, where he’s holding on to a little red jewelry box. I thought I’d stopped breathing a few seconds ago, but now I stop for real. Lorenzo cracks open the box. He raises it and looks at me, hope bright in his dark eyes.

“My life began the day I met you. Ever since that day, you’ve made me stronger and better and more sure of who I am, everything a man wants to be and everything he’s not without a woman like you. Will you marry me, Ruby?”

I’ve spent my life hoping for this moment, but I never actually imagined it. I never imagined that every bit of joy and hope and love I’ve ever shared with Lorenzo would come alive inside me again in this one moment. “Yes” is all I can say as I push myself off the boards and throw my arms around his neck. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

He exhales against my neck and plants a fierce kiss on the skin. “Thank you,” he says so softly I almost miss it.

I kiss his mouth and stroke my fingers along his jaw. “I can’t believe you wrote that in your journal.”

“If only I was as smart at eighteen as I was at eight.”

All along, it was me. All those nights I spent crying and wishing for him to love me the way I loved him were a waste. It was always me he wanted.

“So Lorenzo Rossi wins again. What are you going to wish for next? Because there’s nothing you could ask me for that I wouldn’t give you right here and now.”

He kisses my forehead. “No, I’m getting out of the wanting game. There’s nothing left to wish for when you have it all.”

THE END