The Imperfections

“Married?” she asks, having the gall to look taken aback.

“Don’t act surprised. I may have been drunk at the time, but I told you what would happen if we led my family to believe that baby you’re carrying belongs to me.”

The pitch of her voice rising a little, she argues, “Well, yeah, but we were going to date for a while first to make sure we’d be a good fit.”

I nod patiently. “Yes, we were. But you took that out of my hands, didn’t you? Now it’s done. If that baby’s mine, you’re gonna marry me.”

“But the baby’s not really yours.”

“It is now.”

Wide-eyed, she takes a breath and lets it out. “Wow. You move fast. From not even willing to date me to… let’s get married and have a baby together.”

“Dating can end. Marriage can’t,” I explain.

“I mean, it can.”

“Not marriage to me,” I warn.

Since she’s absolutely batshit crazy, a faint smile tugs at her pretty little lips. “Otherwise, fish food?”

I shake my head. “Not you, but anyone you try to leave me for, absolutely.”

“That’s kinda hot,” she tells me, dipping forward and brushing her lips against my shoulder.

Affection for this crazy little shit wells up inside me, and I can’t help smiling as I look down at her. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” she verifies, kissing my chest then looking up at me, all innocent. “I could get used to having a husband who says such sexy things.”

“Long as you understand he means ’em,” I tell her, absently caressing the curve of her lower back. “Lot of men might talk a big game, but I’m not just talking.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you,” she assures me, looking faintly amused.

A moment passes, me holding her, her seeming so comfortable in my embrace despite all the reasons she has not to be.

A thought crosses my mind: I sure am lucky to have found such a perfectly misshapen human being. I don’t like all the things she experienced that made her the way she is, but I sure do like how she turned out.

“You should move in,” I say suddenly, breaking the companionable silence.

Her eyebrows rise and she looks up at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Might as well. I’d rather get married sooner than later, if it’s all the same to you.”

Her voice lightly teasing, she points out, “I didn’t exactly say yes, you know.”

“I didn’t exactly ask,” I remind her. “You’re marrying me now—that’s a fact. You don’t get a say in it.”

Grinning, she locks her arms around my neck and pulls herself closer to me. “I really like you, you know that?”

“You’d better,” I tease, giving her a little squeeze. “If my wife doesn’t like me, that’s bound to make marriage a little harder.”

“Marriage,” she says, shaking her head slightly, as if overwhelmed by the word. “Definitely did not think I’d be getting engaged tonight.”

Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “Well, of course not. You went out with fucking Dirk.”

Rolling her eyes right back but with more good nature, she insists, “Dirk’s not a bad guy. I know you insist he’s an asshole, but I don’t think he is, and I have a good sense about these things.”

“No, you do not,” I return, almost laughing at the idea of her saying a thing like that with a straight face. “You think I’m a good guy. I love you for it, but when it comes to men and what they’re worth, your judgment is shit.”

The words tumble out of my mouth without thought, and I don’t even hear myself until her eyes widen and I replay what I said.

Losing my humor, I feel my blood freeze in my veins. “I didn’t mean—”

Nodding quickly, she tries to cut me off. “I know. It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”

“It’s not that—I mean, obviously I like you a lot—”

Grimacing, she removes a hand from around my neck to hold it up in a halting gesture. “Please, stop. You don’t have to explain. I didn’t think you meant it that way, and you’re just gonna make it weird.”

“I just don’t want you to think—”

“We’re getting married, so I hope we do love each other someday. When that day comes, we will look back at this and laugh, but in the meantime, you promised not to hurt my feelings with your stupid rejection anymore. If you insist on clarifying that you don’t love me—especially right on the heels of the worst marriage proposal of all time—I’m just…I’m going to cry.”

I frown. “The worst marriage proposal of all time?”

“It was less a proposal and more a demand,” she states, not unreasonably.

She does have a point, I suppose. Pressing my lips together grimly, I look down at her. “You want me to ask?”

Hiking up an eyebrow, she says, “Why? As you so audaciously informed me, I don’t really have a choice. It’s wedding bells or fish food, and we’ve already covered my opinion of fish, so I’m not about to sacrifice myself for the sake of their nutrition.”