It’s October.
So much stuff should be happening this month, and yet none of it is.
I want to tell Noah. I need to tell him, but the thought of discussing it and reliving all the pain takes my breath away. Noah keeps telling me that we’re in this for the long haul. That now that he has me, he’s never letting me go. I can’t escape the past. I need to figure out how I’m going to tell him about the worst month of my life.
“Mmm,” Noah hums from behind me as he places a soft kiss on my shoulder. “I love waking up with you.”
I roll over to face him. “What does our future look like?” I blurt out. Most of my conversation with his dad last night was a back and forth between catching up from the source itself since he knew about my life thanks to my parents and telling me how happy he was Noah and I were together again. He kept talking about our future. How he always knew we’d get married and give him plenty of grandkids. How he knew we’d find our way back to one another and how bright our future looked. But I can’t think of our future because I keep seeing the past.
And that breaks my heart.
Noah blinks the sleepiness out of his eyes. “What does our future look like?” he repeats, and I nod my head. He leans his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes while he thinks. “Do you want my timeline or one you’re probably more comfortable with?”
“Yours.”
“Well,” he begins, running his hand up and down my side. “If it was up to me, we’d get married the first chance we get next summer. We’ll honeymoon wherever you want and buy a house. Then we’ll have a year or two to ourselves if we can stick to the plan before,” his hand moves to my stomach as tears form in my eyes before he has a chance to say what I know is coming, “I put a baby in you. Our future looks like us being together and happy. It’s me loving you for the rest of my life, just like I’ve been doing since I met you. That sounds good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
Noah grins and kisses me. “Should I accept that also as a yes, you’ll marry me?”
I laugh. “No, you shouldn’t, because I don’t remember being asked.” It’s surprising that I don’t feel any nerves over knowing that one day he’s going to ask me. There’s only an excited jitter in my stomach.
“Man, I was hoping you’d let that slide,” he jokes.
“Not a chance. Something tells me you’ve been dying to get down on one knee and ask me that particular question, and I’m not going to be the one to take that opportunity from you.”
That smile of his seems to grow.
“Not to mention, you can’t propose without a ring.”
“Sounds like I can propose, then.”
I stare at him. “What?” There’s no way he has a ring. He wouldn’t have bought one already. Right?
Noah throws the sheets aside and gets out of bed. He goes to the closet and starts moving stuff around on the top shelf. Finally, he returns with a shoe box. He sits on the edge of the bed, near me, and hands it to me. “Open it.”
I look down at the old, worn box and realize I’m scared to open it. It’s too big to hide a ring and I could hear stuff sliding around in there when he pulled it off the shelf. My hesitation causes Noah to reach over and remove the lid. Inside, there’s a ring box, tons of pictures, and even a few tickets from our movie dates. I can’t believe my eyes.
Somehow, my hands go to the pictures instead of the ring box. God, we were so happy. Most of the photos are the same, us with our heads together, grinning like it’s the best day of our lives or smooching for the photo. Some are of us with friends, a few from graduation, and one I’ve never seen before. It’s on the campus of the university Noah attended. He’s hugging me and it’s obvious that his grip is tight. That was an emotional day for us both.
After I’ve flipped through the photos twice, I set them down and grab the box. Gulping, I open it to find a modest engagement ring. It’s a simple gold band with a single diamond resting on top. My eyes squeeze closed, tears leak out, and I feel Noah’s thumbs wiping them away. I open my eyes to look at him.
“I spent my
entire savings on that,” he says. “Remember when I was late to pick you up to get my tattoo on my eighteenth birthday?” I nod. “I was buying that. Ironically enough, the day I was going to ask you was the day you told me you wanted to break up.”
“God, Noah, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You were going to ask me to marry you and I broke up with you when I shouldn’t have,” I cry.
“Don’t say that!” he suddenly shouts and stands. “You can’t regret it or say you shouldn’t have done it. I don’t want to think all of the time apart was a waste. I didn’t show you to upset you.” He snatches the shoe box and the ring box away from me. “I don’t know why I fucking showed you at all.”
I scramble after him, grabbing his arm before he can put the box back on the shelf. “Noah, wait. I’m sorry. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is say that what I’ve been through and what you’ve been through was for nothing. I just can’t believe you were going to ask me.”
He scoffs. “Like it’s so hard to imagine I’d want to marry you?”