The Last Thing He Told Me

I was staying in Los Angeles for the week to finish work on my project in the Canals and then I was planning on flying up to Sausalito on Friday. We had talked about taking a ride down the coast to visit cousins of Owen’s. The cousins, he said, lived in Carmel-by-the-Sea—a small, touristy town on the end of the Peninsula.

“There aren’t actually cousins in Carmel-by-the-Sea?” I said.

“Someone’s cousins, probably,” he said.

I laughed.

“That’s a benefit of me,” he said. “I don’t really have any cousins anywhere. I don’t come with family at all, except Bailey.”

“And she’s a boon,” I said.

He smiled at me. “You really feel that way, don’t you?”

“Of course.” I paused. “Not that the feeling is mutual.”

“It will be.”

He took a sip of his drink and moved it across the table toward me.

“Have you ever tried a bourbon Good Luck Charm?” he said. “I only drink it on special occasions. It’s a mix of bourbon and lemon and spearmint. And it works. It brings luck.”

“What do you need luck for?”

“I’m going to ask you something that you’re going to say is too soon to ask you,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“Is that the question?” I said.

“The question’s coming,” he said. “But not like this, not when my kid’s in the bathroom, so you can start breathing again…”

He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t taken a breath at all, worrying he was actually going to pop the question. I was terrified if he did that I wouldn’t be able to say yes. And I wouldn’t be able to say no.

“Maybe I’ll ask you in Big Sur. We’re staying on top of these cliffs, surrounded by oak trees, prettiest trees you’ve ever seen in your life. And you get to sleep beneath them, you sleep in yurts, which look up at all those trees, which look out on the ocean. One of them has our name on it.”

“I’ve never slept in a yurt,” I said.

“Well, you won’t be able to say that next week.”

He took his drink back, took a long sip.

“And I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but you should probably know, I can’t wait to be your husband,” he said. “Just for the record.”

“Well, I’m not going on the record,” I said. “But I feel the same.”

This is when Bailey came back to the table. She sat down and dug into her pasta, a delicious southern Italian rendition of Cacio e Pepe. It was a decadent mix of cheese and spicy pepper and salty olive oil.

Owen leaned in and took a huge bite, right off her plate.

“Dad!” She laughed.

“Sharing is caring,” he said, his mouth full. “Wanna hear something cool?”

“Sure,” she said. And she smiled at him.

“Hannah got us all tickets to see the revival of Barefoot in the Park tomorrow night at the Geffen,” he said. “Neil Simon is one of her favorites too. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“We’re seeing Hannah again tomorrow?” she said. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Bailey…” Owen shook his head.