Page 32 of Insta-Hubby
“Fair point. But you’re right, it is a shame that I’m not going to be online anymore. You’re gonna have to do enough posting for the both of us.”
That’s another thing Maggie and I started doing. We now have a joint social media account for the shop, where we post photos of real women wearing the dresses we sell.
“I think I’m gonna have to,” I say, “we are super busy, and I don’t want it to ever end. I’m having a blast.”
“Oh,” Liam says, putting his newspaper down on top of mine, “before I officially shut it down, I want you to check something I posted on my blog while I was in the car over here. Just real quick.”
“Liam, it’s not that I don’t want to see your abs, but Maggie and I have to get ready for our first appointment,” I say, taking my phone out, “but okay. Just real quick.”
I open up Liam’s blog and scroll past thing’s he’s shared: pictures of Corgi puppies, vegetarian recipes, flower arrangements in every color of the rainbow, photos of little girls in ballet costumes, women with weathered faces and deep wrinkles and big smiles, world leaders, diplomats, glossy cakes adorned with sugar flowers, intricately-designed mandalas carved into the side of old Spanish guitars, the skating rink at Chelsea Piers, a photo of me and Maggie in matching pale blue wedding dresses, the mascot from my high school, fireworks, roller coasters, beaches I will never visit, a picture of Liam’s brother and his brother’s wife smiling and Lady-and-the-Tramping a piece of spaghetti, a cup of hot cappuccino with the froth manipulated into an image of a motorcycle helmet, a whole world of experiences and people and things that make me think bigger and dream wider and smile brighter, until I get to the last picture, and my heart stops.
I feel myself breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly, and I feel the corners of my eyes prick with the beginnings of hot tears.
It’s a ring.
And the caption is simple:
Marry Me.
I look up from my phone.
Liam is holding up a ring. The ring from the photo.
He comes around the counter, and he gets down on one knee.
His smile, his eyes, his heart.
I want all of it. All of him.
“I have a very important question to ask you,” he says, taking my hand.
And I look up past him, past the big clear window onto the street, where a crowd of people - young people, old people, people who look like students and punks and snobby old ladies with pearls and dog walkers, street vendors, people of every color and ethnicity and social status and group - and they’re all holding up big, fat, fake rings.
“Liam,” I choke out, “I don’t know what to say.”
“The people out there are just for show,” he says, “I’m the real thing, baby. I want you. Forever. And I have the real rock right here to prove it.Marry me.”
“Yes,” I say, letting the tears fall freely down my cheeks “Yes, a million billion times yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly.
It feels perfect.
He is perfect.Weare perfect.
“I hope this is the best day of your life, Anna. And then, tomorrow, I hopethat’sthe best day of your life. I want to work every single damn day to make your day better and brighter than the one before.”
“I love you, Liam,” I say as he embraces me.
“I love you too.”
And then I hear Maggie clapping, and the people outside clapping, and it’s anything but for show.
It’s real.
THE END