Chapter Ten – The Proposal

Lance

Day Twenty-Two

“Two weeks.”

Jude looks from the lit-up glass case that he's focused on, and looks at me.

“What's that now?” he asks.

“Two weeks,” I tell him. “Your sister. She hasn't talked to me in two weeks.”

He chuckles.

“Every morning when I walk into the kitchen and she's there, I say 'Good morning, Sarah.' She just grabs her coffee and crinkles up the newspaper in her hand and walks out of the room. When I come home from work in the evening, I say the same thing – 'Evening, Sar.' If I'm lucky, she doesn't walk out of the room, but she ignores me. When I ask her if she'd like to go out to dinner, she says 'No, thanks.' Usually I offer to make something for dinner after that, but she'll crinkle her nose up and say 'I already ate.' Then she walks out of the room. And that's been the extent of our conversations for two weeks now.”

Jude laughs. “She is rather good at that, being a cold person.”

“The ball is tomorrow night,” I tell him. “I have no idea how we're going to manage to pull this off if I can't even get her to speak to me.”

It's been twenty-two days. Almost a quarter of our one-hundred day contract is over. Katherine followed through on her end of the contract, giving us each the original fifty-thousand she agreed to pay us. Even though our time is not yet up and we still have over seventy days left to fulfill, both of our debts have been paid, and it's such a relief.

But just a short time after the money transferred from Katherine to me, the full fifty-thousand, she took it upon herself to remind me that if I wanted to pull off even a fake engagement, I'd better make it look real.

And that included a ring, and in our circle, a good proposal story.

And that's why I've called in Jude, Sarah's older – if by only two years – brother and one of my best friends from high school, to help me pick out a “fake engagement” engagement ring. He's the only one aside from Katherine that knows Sarah and can be trusted to know the real story.

“Forget pulling off a fake engagement,” I say. “I'm not even sure I'll manage to pull off a fake proposal if she's not speaking to me.”

“Well, all she has to say is yes,” he says, smiling at me.

“At least it's only one word,” I say. “And only one syllable. Hopefully she can exert the effort.”

“You'll pull it off,” he says. “Don't worry. I know Sarah, and if there's one thing she's committed to more than being a cold bitch toward you, it's pissing off Dad.”

“He's gonna kill me,” I tell him. “He's gonna murder me and bury my body in the desert.”

“Welcome to the Kennedy family,” he says. “Welcome to my world.”

“Is he still not speaking to you?”

“He speaks,” he says, looking over the rings in the glass cases. “He speaks because mother makes him speak. She wouldn't be able to stand having another child shoved off to the side by dad, and he knows that. He knows if he wants to keep his marriage intact, he's to stick to a strict 'grin-and-bear-it in public' rule.”

“Your family puts the fun in dysfunctional, Jude,” I say.

He grins. “Yeah. But that's okay. I've got Jackson, and that's a good enough escape for me.”

I was one of the first friends that Jude ever came out to – back in high school, in fact. Sarah and I were really the only ones who knew, up until he finally got up the courage to tell his family five years ago. Likewise, Jude is really the only other person that knows how real my feelings for Sarah are, that I'm not just playing house for a paycheck.

“I always knew I'd be helping you pick out an engagement ring for my sister,” he says. “But I always thought we'd be doing this much sooner than now. You know, like, fifteen years ago.”

“And that it wouldn't be for a fake engagement?”

He smiles. “Honestly, I don't know how fake all this really is.”

His response takes me off guard. “What?”

“Come on,” he says, finally taking his eyes off the glass cases. “If we're being honest, you and Sar should have been married sixteen years ago. I always expected you to put off college so you could hang around until she graduated, because I didn't think you could leave her for that long. I expected her to pop out a couple of kids shortly after that. If anyone was going to do the happily ever after thing, we all expected it to be the two of you. You surprised the hell out of all of us when it went the opposite way, man.”

“Some things just don't work out like you thought they would,” I respond.

“Whatever happened after her sweet sixteen party must be one hell of a story, then,” he says.

Even though he knows – all too well – that I don't have a model relationship with Sheldon, all that Jude knows is that their father can't stand the sight of me. What happened between Sheldon and I is a secret I've kept hidden for years.

“Regardless of what happened, you know you're still in love with her,” he says to me. “I know you're still in love with her. And I'm pretty sure, given the fact that she's living with you and opening up to you finally, that she's still in love with you. I don't think you can anymore pull off a truly fake engagement than you can pull off faking that you're not still in love with each other.”

I open my mouth to rebut him, but he stops me and points to the glass case he's found himself in front of.

“I found it,” he says to me with a smile on his face.

I walk over to the case and stand next to him as he points down into the case. Surrounded by every other ring set out on display, sparkling in the white-blue cast of light, is the ring – a modest round diamond surrounded by a white-gold band, with several smaller diamonds set in around it.

“That's the one,” he says with an assured nod.

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Sarah

“These need filed away. Oh, and these need to be put in storage, can do you that?”

I hand a couple of manila folders and a banker's box of other files off to Maggie as we all prepare to go home at the end of the day. I'm putting things away at my desk and so focused that I don't notice my brother step off the elevator, until he's standing right in front of me.

“Sare-Bear.”

“Jude! What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Well, baby sister,” he says, running his finger mindlessly over a picture frame on my desk, “I thought I'd come give you a ride home.”

“That's alright,” I tell him. “I can grab a cab, don't you have to get back to work?”

“I have another doctor handling my patients for the night.”

His eyes dart away from me and he smiles, which causes me to stop and knit my eyebrows.

“Just what are you up to?” I ask him.

He looks up at me as if I've just accused him of a crime.

“Why do I have to be up to something?” he asks.

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“That look like you're up to something,” I say with a smile.

“So a guy can't come see his little sister at work anymore without it meaning something,” he says. “It must mean he's up to something. A guy can't just be nice for no reason.”

“Who told you to come pick me up from work?”

“Lance might have mentioned something about you needing a ride home earlier today,” he says.

“Then you're up to something,” I tell him. “And if Lance is in any way involved, I don't want any part of it.”

I start to walk away, but he grabs me by the arm.

“Sarah Madeline, you are going to leave this office – with me,” he says. “And you are going to get in my car. You are going to buckle your seat belt and sit there, in silence, while I drive you back out to Long Beach. Then you are going to go inside and put on a pretty dress and enjoy what that man has planned. And you are going to like it.”

He isn't overly forceful, but the look in his eyes is serious.

“I don't have a choice, do I?” I ask as he holds my arm.

He smiles. “No, Sar. You don't.”

The ride from my office to our beach house takes about an hour – the traffic is pretty heavy even shortly after rush hour, but my brother drives like a maniac in Brooklyn traffic, and even crazier once we reach Rockaway territory. We stay silent; I don't dare criticize his driving, and the whole way he has a smirk on his face. I know he's up to something, and the simple fact that Lance's name was dropped leaves me curious and nervous at the same time.

We pull into the driveway and I see his BMW first – but curiously, when we park, I notice the white delivery van. I open my mouth to question it, but Jude is already turned to me, with his finger up to stop me.

“Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his finger. “No questions asked, no questions answered.”

He moves and unlatches the lid on his center console and pulls out a familiar piece of red fabric before he closes it – one of my pricey silk scarves, a gift from my mother.

“Where'd you get that?” I ask. “And what are you doing with it?”

He doesn't answer; instead he pushes me by the shoulders until my back is turned and starts wrapping the bunched up scarf over my eyes.

“Hey!” I yell. “What is this?”

“I was told to subdue you by any means necessary,” he says, and I feel him tying the knot. “I told Lance exactly how good I was at tying you up when we were kids, but he thought that was a bit much – so I told him he could save that idea for later tonight.”

I can't see a thing through the fabric of the scarf, but somehow I still see that smug smile of my brother's in my mind's eye.

“I hate both of you so much right now,” I tell him just as I hear him opening the car door and getting out.

He comes around to the passenger side and opens the door, grabbing my hand to help me out of the car now that I can't see. His arm is wrapped around my waist and one hand holding mine as he guides me up the driveway so I don't fall or bump into anything, especially when we reach the front steps. With one of my necessary senses down, everything else is heightened – I can feel the beach air stick to my skin, hear the water hitting the sand from what is essentially our back yard, and feel gravel crunching under my shoes.

He helps me through the front door and as soon as he closes the door, all that goes away and is replaced by the sound of people – I can't tell how many, but it's more than just Lance – bustling around from our kitchen.

“Who's in our house?” I ask.

“Don't worry, it's being taken care of,” he says to me, as he once again starts guiding me through our living room. “Now watch out, I'm going to help you up the stairs, so just be careful.”

Him maneuvering me up the stairs must be comical at the very least, and I wonder – since I still can't see anything that is going on around me – if Lance is standing in the living room watching the whole thing. My heels, although they're modest and easy to walk in, present problems when my foot hits each stair, since I have no idea of where I'm landing. Thankfully I make it up the stairs with no unlucky incidents, and he leads me a few steps down the hall toward my bedroom before he stops me and reaches up to grab the knot in the scarf.

“You've got twenty minutes to get ready,” he says as he unties it and removes it. He smiles and moves to block my view when I try to peek back down the staircase to see what's going on. “I laid out a few dresses you might like to wear – nothing too fancy. Throw your hair up and fix your makeup if you want, and just relax. Make sure you wait twenty minutes, no peeking before the time is up. Your surprise will be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when the twenty minutes is up.”

“Got it – ten minutes, right?”

“Sarah,” he reprimands, with narrowed eyebrows but smiling.

“Twenty minutes, I know,” I say with a laugh.

As much as I want to wait until he's disappeared at the bottom of those stairs and sneak down to see exactly what's going on, I resist. Instead, I force myself to go into my bedroom and get ready before the twenty minutes are up.

The first thing I notice after I close the door is three of my dresses laid out neatly on my bed, still attached to their hangers. My button-up and pencil skirt are so uncomfortable after a day at work that I can't wait to get them off, so I slip off my skirt and peel off my shirt.

I leave my heels at the door and walk toward my bed; when I see the dresses from my closet that are laid out for me I smile. My brother definitely picked them – these are all some of his favorites. There's a cherry red cowl-neck sleeveless dress with brass buttons and a white summer dress with blue damask details. But it's the last dress that I decide on – a 40's pin-up style dress with a navy blue flared skirt and a high-collared bodice with light polka dot details.

I take my time getting ready, because I have plenty. I splash some cold water on my face and fix my smudged makeup in the bathroom mirror. I let my hair down, run a brush through it, and pin it up in a loose bun with a silver hair clip.

It's then that I notice my hands are shaking. When I look back at my reflection in the mirror, and feel the excitement in the pit of my stomach, I realize I'm nervous.

They won't tell me what they're up to; my brother tells me it's a “surprise”. But deep down, I think I know what's going to happen tonight.

For sixteen years, I've put on a good show – or at least I've tried. If I've learned anything over the past twenty-two days, it's that I haven't been fooling anybody. My best friend has been onto me for years; my coworker can see it in my smile; hell, even my boss, who knows nothing about my personal life, can tell that I have things going on. And if I stop to be completely honest, I realize I haven't been fooling myself all that well either.

I know I'm in love with him; and I know that if what I think is going to happen tonight happens, it will bring up things for me that I've been trying to push away for sixteen years.

But I also know I have to remember that it's all for show. We are playing a role. It's something we've been doing our whole lives – playing roles for our parents, being good trust fund kids and doing what our parents want. I should be used to it by now.

But this role is one that I'm not sure I can play much longer. Not without getting hurt.

I push it aside – both because I don't want to upset myself, and because I'm sure I've exhausted all twenty of my minutes. I don't even bother doing a final makeup check before I walk out of the bathroom. I only take a couple of minutes to look through the bottom of my closet, and I grab the perfect shoes, a pair of white peep-toe wedge heels – which happen to be one of the most comfortable pairs I own, too.

My “surprise” that is waiting for me isn't that much of a surprise – when I reach the top of the staircase, Lance is at the bottom, smiling.

“I was really hoping for a puppy,” I say with a smile – not forgetting that I'm still mad at him for the night he came home from the bar.

“One surprise at a time,” he says as I walk down. “You look good, Sarah.”

I glance at him as I approach him – like me, he's dressed a bit more casual than he would be at work, wearing a white button-down shirt with a black blazer.

“You're not so bad yourself,” I say. “Are you going to tell me what this surprise is?”

“No,” he says with a grin. “But I'll show you. Come on.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me away, through the door of the kitchen. As he walks me through, I see three men in white uniforms bustling around our kitchen, but he doesn't stop.

“Who are these guys?” I ask him.

“Don't worry about that. Come on.”

He pulls me past the men as they work, all the way over to the sliding patio door. The way he yanks on my arm – not rough at all, but with zeal and excitement – makes me laugh a little.

“Are you ready?” he asks as he stops me right at the door, his hand on the lever.

“I'm ready.”

Whatever I thought I was expecting when he pulled that door open, it has to be even more impressive. My eyes widen, my jaw drops, and my hands automatically fly up to cover my mouth.

It's getting late, so the sun is just starting to set. The sky is turning a purple-orange-yellow gradient, and casting a greenish-blue glow over the water. Twinkle lights are weaved through the lattice work and pillars that frame the porch area. A small cafe table is set for us, and another man in a white uniform is already there, pouring something into glasses for us.

“You did this?” I ask, turning to him a little.

He moves to stand beside me, his hands in the pockets of his blazer.

“We need a story,” he says. “Something to tell at the party tomorrow. I didn't think telling people we're being forced to live together for three months was the kind of romantic story that would impress people.”

“So you set all this up and even hired staff so we would have a good story to tell?” I ask with a smile, finally recognizing that the men in white uniform are waiters.

He smiles. “If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, right?”

I laugh, feeling a heat wash over my cheeks.

“I can't believe you did all this,” I say. “I didn't know you had a flair for the romantic like this. This is impressive, even for you.”

“There's only one thing left to do before we can enjoy it.”

He looks away from me and motions to the men who are working around us.

“Can you guys give us a couple minutes please?”

They nod, and without saying anything, they both retreat from the porch and go back into the kitchen through the patio door. The last one through the door takes the time to pull the curtain back, giving us complete privacy.

“I fought with myself for several days over how exactly to do this,” he says, turning back to look at me again. “It's supposed to be all for show, and it has to be good so it impresses your family and your dad's friends...but I don't want to ruin it for you with all that, you know? It should still be special.”

I knew it was coming, and I tried to prepare myself – but when he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out the box, the one I know has an engagement ring, I still get that feeling I dreaded.

“You're my best friend, Sarah,” he says, holding the box out to me. “We've gone through some ups and downs, but you still mean everything to me.”

I reluctantly take it when he hands the box over to me. My hands are shaking as I open it and see the ring.

“I could ask you to marry me,” he says as he takes the box from me and removes the ring. “But that just seems wrong if you have to say yes and play along with all of this anyway. I'd rather ask you something a little more meaningful.”

He grabs my hand.

“Will you be my best friend forever? No matter what we're going through, no matter where we are in our lives.”

He looks up at me, and my eyes meet his. It's not a dream marriage proposal, but from the way he speaks I have a feeling he planned it that way, and that's okay with me – because it's not the marriage proposal I dreaded. It's not the proposal I dreamed of for so many years, the one I had always hoped would come during better times. The one I had always hoped would be real.

Most of the dread and sadness I felt knowing it was coming has passed, but a tiny bit still remains. So I muster a smile and a slight nod.

“Of course I will.”