“And you’re sure you want to spend your life with him?”
“Sure. He’s a real catch.” I heard the sound of a blender. They were making smoothies. Or mixed drinks? On a cold day like this?
“What did I tell you? Isn’t this soup blender amazing?” Pete was saying to Krissie. “It turns fresh broccoli and shredded cheddar into a bowl of hot delicious soup in two minutes.”
“Yummy,” said Krissie.
“Well, I guess we’d better start packing. What other choice do we have?” laughed my mom. “What kind of clothes should I wear? Who will book our flight for us? Should we go to a travel agent?”
“I’ll have to go out and get a different phone today,” I said. “I’ll call you after I do that.”
“Say, you probably haven’t heard this since you’ve been gone, but Tina quit her job,” said my mom, dishing about my brother’s wife as if this was just another phone call.
“Crazy. Well, I’d better go. I will talk to you soon, Mom. Say Hi to Dad, and don’t tell anyone about this. It’s top secret, okay?”
“I promise my lips are sealed, Bug,” she said.
I sighed, trying to ignore the smell of toast wafting from the kitchen, the blender noise, the laughter. Suddenly instead of saying goodbye and hanging up, other words were spilling out of my mouth in a low, rushed whisper: “Mom, what should I do? Should I say yes if he proposes?”
She missed the urgency of my tone. “Hmm. You think for sure he’s going to?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, well I’m asking because I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed. Aren’t those other girls real lookers?”
“Mom! I don’t always look the way I do when I’m hanging out with you and Dad. Sometimes I dress up.”
“Well, that’s good. But still, Emma, it could go in a direction you weren’t supposing.”
“I know, but I don’t think it’s going to.”
“Not that you aren’t cute too.”
“Whatever. It’s fine.”
“And this show, are they going to let it go that far?”
“Mom! That’s the whole point of the show!”
I could hear Krissie suggesting spices to Pete. What about cumin? Would cumin be good in broccoli soup? What about paprika? Mmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmm. I wanted to chuck something against the wall. Instead I found myself twisting the one year old’s birthday invitation into a sweaty knot. Once I realized what I had done, I tried to uncrumple it, but it was too late. I shoved it into the dusty abyss between the table and wall.
“Hmm,” said my mom. “And you really love him already? It’s been such a short amount of time.”
“I don’t know. How can I tell? There’s so much going on all the time it’s hard to even judge.”
A song began playing in the kitchen. Something ridiculous I’d never heard before, blaring over the sound of the mixer. It was a ringtone, I realized. “Hello!” said Krissie. She sounded like she had a smile in her voice like we’d been taught to sound when I worked in a call center during college. I made a mental note to become the kind of girl who has funny ringtones as soon as I had a phone again. And to put a smile in my voice.
“Well, Emma, you should know whether you love him or not. Would you want to write him a love letter, or would it feel funny?”
“What kind of a question is that?” I asked.
“That’s how I picked your dad over another boy. I couldn’t picture writing that other boy a love letter. I tried, but it felt real funny. Well, anyway, is he what you thought he would be?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“I think so.”