What He's Been Missing

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” I looked into the room of well-dressed, wide-eyed women and realized that Ian hadn’t moved to go inside. “You nervous?”

“Not really . . . I’m just . . . I can’t believe this is it. The big step! The biggest step!” Ian peered into the room like he was in a trance. There was a cake in the middle of the table. Champagne bottles and flutes were scattered all around. “It’s surreal. Kind of exciting. Like bungee jumping or skydiving!” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a book.

“What’s that?”

“It’s called The Psychology of Love. I’ve been reading it all day and it says that it’s normal for people to feel like this before making such a big decision to move forward.”

Ian was pacing and rolling the little book up in his hands.

“Feel like what?”

“Feel like—” Ian stopped and looked at me like I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Nervous! Yes, Rach, I’m nervous! I mean, I really love Scarlet, but this is a lot.” He looked so helpless.

“Ian—” I snatched the book and threw it to the floor. “Look, this is about love. Not something you read in a book. Not jumping from a plane in a parachute or a bridge with a rope tied to your waist. It’s about experiencing the kind of love that makes you feel so free that you’re flying and you can’t even worry about where your feet will land, because you don’t intend on ever touching the ground again. That’s what getting engaged is about,” I say, lost in the moment as I considered the concept for myself. “Finding an angel that’s so wonderful, so amazing, that you want to fly with her forever. That you want to ask her to fly with you forever.”

“Damn, Rach! Can you ask Scarlet to marry me?”

“Oh loverboy!” One of the girls from inside of the party who I thought was Scarlet’s roommate poked her head outside of the dining room. “I just got word that Scarlet’s on her way upstairs. It’s show time!”

A collection of cheers jabbed into my gut as the girl came out and pulled Ian and me into the party.

“Let’s go,” she insisted.

A massive crystal chandelier perched atop the circular mahogany dining table set glints of brilliant light over the heads of the sixteen smiling, overdressed people scattered around the room. I was able to count so quickly because everyone was coupled up. All of Scarlet’s friends were in that particular mid-twentyish age range where their perky breasts and ability to stay up all night helped them snag a mid-thirtyish age range brother who was so amazed he could still get a girl so young he immediately gave her the title “girlfriend” and took her everywhere he went, like a new puppy or fast car. Unfortunately, in two years they’d all find out that these men had no intention of marrying them. And end up at age thirty jaded and alone. I was speaking from experience.

“You didn’t tell me there’d only be couples here,” I whispered to Ian, but really I should’ve expected this. There was something about people in their mid-twenties and late thirties and not wanting to go anywhere alone.

“She’s getting off the elevator!” someone shouted and everyone started to duck down and hide beneath and behind things.

Ian grabbed my hand and pulled me beneath the table. For a second, I looked into his eyes. In the shaded darkness he looked like

a little boy playing hide-and-seek. Suddenly I remembered every small, magical moment I’d ever had with this man. Breakups. Breakdowns. He’d always been there for me. My confidant. My homie. My best friend.

“You ready for this?” I asked, not letting go of his hand.

He looked at me and winked with the nervousness he’d had just minutes ago gone from his face.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.” He winked again. “I do.”

Ian’s birthday surprise cover plan, as he’d told me over lunch the week before, was for Scarlet’s best friend, who was visiting from California, to say she needed to stop by her hotel room to pick up something. They’d open the door, we’d jump out. Everyone would be excited.

This all went off without a snag, but when I saw Scarlet decked out in a black fascinator hat with purple ostrich feathers poking out the top, I knew she was clued in to both the party and Ian’s ring. No woman would waste a hat that obnoxious on dinner with her girlfriend.

Still, Scarlet was the perfect pretender. She placed her skinny fingers over her skinny lips and squealed like a little piglet.

“For me?” she said like Scarlett O’Hara. “All this just for me?”

Someone pushed Ian to the front like a lamb to slaughter. “You did this for me, baby?” Scarlet batted her little eyes at Ian.

“Yes, honey. Happy Birthday!” Ian kissed Scarlet on the cheek and the crowd cooed like a room full of babies. They even made him do it again so they could get a picture.

Scarlet pulled Ian by the hand around the room as she sighed and squealed with her friends about the surprise party. I poured myself a generous flute of champagne and spied from the darkest corner I could find to watch Ian for the look of love Journey had asked about. He was smiling big. Had his arm around Scarlet’s shoulder and rubbed just a little when she was talking and not paying attention to him.

“Rachel! You’re Rachel Winslow! Right?” One of the women, who’d been left solo when her boyfriend went to huddle with the rest of the guys by the wall window that let all the twinkling lights from midtown Atlanta traffic into the room, had walked over to my corner.

“Yes,” I said, putting the flute down on the little wooden table beside me.

“I’m Jennifer. Scarlet told me Ian was friends with you. Amazing. I saw you on the Wendy Williams Show in December.”