Page 84 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Young man. Company.” Jonathan doesn’t look up from the tablecloth.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not so uptight that I can’t say what we’re all thinking. Unlike some people,Dad.”

“I’m thankful my husband knows what tact is,” Janice says, voice loud and expression unbearably prim.

Dillon fires back, “I’m thankful my wife isn’t some wannabe Martha Stewart’s frigid little sister who keeps her husband’s balls in her purse! Sorry, Tyler, no offense.”

Shouting overflows on all sides. Ingrid’s mother looks like she wants to sob. Dillon and Janice are in each other’s faces. Tyler isdefending his wife, who is starting to sob. Aunt Lillian is violently shushing Uncle Luke.

“I’m sorry.” Ingrid cups my cheek and directs my face towards hers. “I should never have brought you here.”

“Babe, this is nothing,” I whisper. “Did I ever tell you how my great-times-a-dozen grandparents met? She shot him with an arrow, and he returned it. Family conflict is crucial to the Silverbow clan. I feel right at home.” I kiss Ingrid and we laugh together, chaos breaking all around us.

Somewhere in the midst of shouting and accusations, and Jonathan quietly carving up a turkey like his children aren’t about to stab each other with forks or smack each other with gravy boats, it clicks.

All the storms and little rocky hills in life are still smooth and sweet when Ingrid is with me.

I rise, silent, startling Ingrid. The noise slowly dies, except for the three-year-old who is now having sobbing hiccups, and Chip and Daisy, who are running, whimpering, and whining because of all the a-holes screaming, disrupting their peace and their mom’s happiness.

When I stand, they come and sit on either side of me, Chip carefully moving his paws back from my cane. “I would like to share what I’m thankful for now,” I announce in a voice that warns off any interruption. “I am thankful for Ingrid. Without her, life doesn’t feel right anymore. She’s my happy place, and my joy, and she’s given me two of the best fur babies in the world, Chip and Daisy. She’s generous, and brave, and in my culture—she’s what we call a War Maiden. Incredibly strong, beautiful women that you hope and pray will even look at you. Ingrid helped me get my head on straight when my world was falling apart, and thanks to her, I have a much better world. A life I like better.” I pause. The room is quiet. All eyes on me. Ingrid’s mouth is open in shock, her eyes shining with happy tears. At least, I hope they’re happy.

“I can’t get down on one knee right now, but I don’t want to wait another second to ask this. Ingrid, will you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

Ingrid swallows air, clutching the tablecloth.

“What kind of soppy women’s story put on is this—”

Whatever Uncle Luke was gonna say, he doesn’t get to finish it. I hurl a loaf of uncut paska at him, smacking him square in the face, making him careen back in his chair, and he goes over, brown loafers waving wildly above the white tablecloth as Aunt Lillian shrieks.

The shouting starts all over again. Someone’s elbow takes down the gravy.

Chip and Daisy are in heaven.

Paska, the traditional Polish holiday bread, must be a little denser than I thought. Or maybe all the upper-body workouts have improved my pitching speed.

But I don’t care about that. Ingrid looks at me and nods.

“Yes?” I confirm in a croak.

It’s a mere whisper, a mouthed word. “Yes.”

“Oh! She said yes!” I cheer.

“Congratulations!” One of the screen twins says politely before throwing a handful of mashed potatoes at Dillon.

I don’t blame the kid.

Jonathan stands up, but the chaos just keeps spiralling. He clears his throat. “Stop that.”

No one listens.

“Stop!” I shout.

Everyone listens. The china reverberates.

“We have to go. Mom, see you next weekend?”

To her credit, Ingrid’s mother simply nods, steps over her brother-in-law, and comes to hug us. “You’re sure you can’t stay?”